Why So Serious?
by nerwende90
Summary: Sometimes the danger isn’t supernatural. hurt!Dean, guilty!protective!Sam and John. The title and a very few quotes are inspired by The Dark Knight, so I guess it’s spoilery for this movie. Warnings inside. Rating just to be safe. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Not Real

**Title: **Why So Serious?

**Author: **nerwende90

**Summary: **Sometimes the danger isn't supernatural. The title and some stuff are inspired by _The Dark Knight, _so I guess it's spoilery for this movie.

**Warning: **violence and lots of angst. Because I'm such a bad person.

**Disclaimer: **I finally have a computer of my own, but try as I might, I still don't own the boys.

**Author's note: **Even though the titles, some lines and some facts are from this movie, you won't find any character from _The Dark Knight _in there. So please don't go think the enemies are the Joker and his goons. They're just regular guys. Now that it's all been clarified, on to the story!

**Why So Serious?**

**1. Not real**

_Pain. Lots and lots of pain. That's all Dean can acknowledge right now. _

_He looks up from the ground where he had fallen only moments ago. Blood's pouring out of his mouth, and he's pretty sure he has at least two broken ribs. His nose has assumed an awkward angle, and his hands are so mutilated that he's surprised there's even any skin left at all._

_His legs feel like they're on fire. He knows they're not even sprained, but he's pretty sure they won't be ready to carry his weight again anytime soon._

_His tormentors are looking down at him, laughing as he tries to sit up, but just can't gather the strength to do it. One of them, the leader Dean assumes, kneels in front of him, still grinning, and lightly grabs his face. Dean tries to wiggle free, but he's so weak from the beating that the man has no real trouble keeping his head still._

"_You'll tell your father" the man says, stroking Dean's face with the side of his knife blade "that this is our message for him. If he doesn't come to us, we'll keep playing with you." And Dean would have laughed if it didn't threaten to hurt his injured ribs even more. If that's what they called playing, he certainly didn't want to fight with them. Gathering what blood and saliva he could get in his mouth, he slightly tilted his head back before spitting as hard as he could in the man's face. He flashed him his most cocky grin, but that only earned him another punch in the face, then another, then another._

_It had been going on for about twenty minutes, but to Dean it felt more like twenty years. He was out to get information on the hunt his dad, Sam and he had been working on. But he hadn't quite made it to his care when these guys attacked him. Of course he had tried fighting them, after all he was a Winchester. But what can one guy do against five to seven armed and angry lunatics? _

_After a short while, the blows stop coming, and Dean can't help but wonder what's next. He tries again to sit up, but to no avail. He shoots the man a murderous look, not even caring about the betraying tears that are still wet on his cheeks. He hasn't even tried to wipe them away. He doesn't care if they see him cry, he just wants it to be over and for one crazy split second, he thinks it is. But the man grabs his face again and slowly puts his knife in Dean's mouth. _

_Dean freezes, staying as still as possible. What's the plan now? Cut off his tongue? That thought's enough to send shivers down his spine. "Why so serious?" the man speaks again, and now Dean's sure he's just a nut job. 'Why so serious?' he thinks, 'What the hell does that mean?' _

_He hates it, but he starts shaking as he feels the blade slowly being turned in his mouth. His eyes widen in fear as he feels it dig in the corner of his mouth 'No, not that!'_

_The man just keeps grinning "You know" he says casually, as if talking about the weather "you really ought to smile more often. Let's put a smile to this face…"_

Sam sits up abruptly, the memory of his nightmare leaving him sweating. He ran a shaky hand through his hair before turning to look at his brother's sleeping form.

It wasn't the first time he had a nightmare about Dean getting hurt, but this one had felt so vivid, and it had been so… _detailed._ Like he could see everything Dean had seen, feel everything he had felt… _'Not real' the youngest Winchester scolded himself 'Just a nightmare. Not even a vision. Just a good ol' nightmare.'_

He looked at Dean again and, before he could stop himself, he got up and went to sit on the edge of Dean's bed. He just sat there for a moment, listening to the soft sound the sheets were making as Dean stirred in his sleep. At some point, Dean whimpered in his sleep and Sam had a flash of memory of Dean's beaten up face, the man's knife in his mouth and the quiet whimper he let out. Sam shook his head, trying to get the memory out of his mind. He couldn't help but wonder what the man was planning to do. He honestly didn't know, but Dean had seemed to understand and that had scared him to death.

"Still not sleeping?" his Dad had spoken softly, but Sam had jumped anyway and cursed under his breath.

"Nightmare." He answered softly.

"That bad, huh?"

Sam shook his head, a small amused smile on his lips. How his dad could figure it out just like that he did not know. But it was still kinda reassuring to know he could rely on him to understand everything from his tone of voice, even in a mere whisper.

"Well," John said, walking in quietly so he didn't wake Dean up "your brother certainly has no trouble sleeping."

Sam chuckled, but was cut short as Dean grumbled "His brother would sleep even better without you two yapping and giggling like schoolgirls."

John laughed at that "Sorry kiddo, didn't mean to wake you up."

Dean mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Yeah right", rolled over onto his stomach and just fell asleep as quickly as he'd woken up.

John smiled softly, putting a light hand on his son's back. "You should get some sleep too Sammy. We have an angry spirit to hunt."

Sam nodded before realizing the room was too dark for his dad to see, so he talked instead "Yeah I'll try." He felt dad's hand on his shoulder and hear him leave the room as quietly as possible.

After a while, Sam got up himself and slowly made his way back to his bed. He just lay there, waiting for the sleep to come as he forced himself not to think about his nightmare. His last thoughts before sleep finally claimed him were _'Not real. Just a nightmare. Not a vision.'_

_Not real.'_

**TBC…**

* * *

_Well that's about it for now, folks! If there are some mistakes in this chapter, do forgive me for it was 2:24 in the morning when I finished the chapter which I'd started about fifty minutes before. _

_And if there are mistakes in there, please let me know so I can correct 'em! _

_And even if there's no mistake, just let me know what you think, reviews are always appreciated!_

nerwende


	2. What Was It About?

**2. What was it about?**

"So, where do we start?" Dean asked, chewing on his taco.

"First you two finish your breakfast and then we go interrogate the neighbors." John said as he packed his bag. When he was finished he got up and quickly exited the room. "Meet me by the cars in five minutes." He called back. "Yes sir!" both of his sons answered at the same time.

As soon as their father was gone, Dean turned back to Sam. "So Sammy, I heard you had a nightmare last night, right?"

"Did Dad tell you this?" Sam looked scandalized and more than a little embarrassed, which made Dean's smirk go even wider.

"Relax, Geek boy. I heard you two talk about it. Now tell me, is it anything to worry about?" Sam shrugged at that.

"No, I don't think so. Just a nightmare."

"But what was it about?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but frowned when he realized he couldn't. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't remember. _'Yeah, what the hell was it about?' _he wondered. Try as he might, he couldn't find any trace of his nightmare in his memory. Which was weird, because he always remembered his nightmares.

"I… I don't remember" he said finally, looking down at the ground.

"Yes you do" Dean said. "You're just afraid I'd find out what it was." The older brother grinned "It wasn't about clowns, was it?"

Sam shot Dean a dirty look "No, it wasn't about clowns."

"Ha! So you remember!"

"No Dean, I… I just know it wasn't about clowns, that's all. But I honestly don't remember."

Dean rolled his eyes "Yeah, right. Seriously Sam, what did you dream about? I promise I won't laugh, if that's what you're afraid of." He said, frowning when he saw Sam's head shoot up as he said "seriously".

"Why so serious?" Sam mumbled.

"What was that?"

"That's all I can remember. I remember a voice saying 'Why so serious?'"

"'Why so serious?' What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I…" Sam looks away, trying desperately to get a hold on something, anything that could help him remember. "I don't know."

Dean ran an exasperated hand through his short hair. "Come on Sammy, you've gotta do better than that."

"But I can't!" Sam practically yelled, "I can't remember!"

"You always remember!"

"Well, not this time."

Dean huffed and got up. "Fine, don't tell me, see if I care." He snapped as he went to get his bag.

Left alone, Sam slammed his fist down on the table. Dean was his brother and Sam loved him, but sometimes he was really infuriating.

But even though Dean's mood swings were a pain in the ass, they weren't the real reason why Sam was angry. The fact that he couldn't remember was annoying, but now that he remembered that single sentence made it even worse. It was like something you can touch but you can't hold. _'Why so serious?' _The sentence echoed in his mind. What did it mean? Why did that voice say that? And why did Sam feel so scared when he heard it in his head?

He was startled out of his thoughts when his dad's voice resounded in the corridor "Boys! What the hell's taking you so long?"

Dean came back and threw Sam's bag at his brother, who caught it easily "Coming!" the eldest yelled, before raising his eyebrows at Sam in a way that meant "Better do what he wants". That simple gesture reassured Sam, because it was Dean's way to tell Sam things were okay between them.

* * *

Interrogating the neighbors happened to be exactly what Dean thought it would be: a complete waste of time. First they can't remember having ever heard about problem in the house, then the wife says she heard noises on the ceiling when she went there last week, but the husband says it was the kid playing upstairs and the wife says she's not so sure anymore. All in all, the Winchesters had heard them talk about the noises, then the kid, then the family, only to end up talking about their damn dog that barked in the middle of the night.

"I hate old people." Dean groaned as the trio walked back to the cars.

"Watch your mouth Dean," John said "You'll be one of them one day."

"If nobody strangles you to death before" Sam said, laughing.

"Ha ha, that was hilarious." Dean deadpanned, but he couldn't hide the smirk that crept on his face.

"Where to now?" Sam asked his dad, changing the subject before Dean said something John would yell at him for.

"Now we split up. Sam, I get you back at the motel and you search the Internet for any information you can get. Dean, you go to the church. According to his wife, that guy was a fervent Christian. I'll go talk to the wife again."

Dean sighed "Why do I get to go to the church? You know I hate churches."

"You hate hospitals too, doesn't keep you from landing there every two months."

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't find anything to beat his dad's come back, so instead he glared at his giggling brother. "Geez, are you two funny today." He said as he went back to his car.

Sam followed John to his truck, keeping his head down so his father and brother couldn't see him laughing.

"Dean!" John called, making Dean turn around to face him, "It's ten o'clock. Be back at the motel in 2 hours at most!"

"You got it!" Dean called back. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes." He mumbled to himself as he got into the car. Man, he hated churches.

* * *

"You know, I could have gone to the church" Sam told his father during the ride.

"Me too. But I wanted Dean to go."

"Why?"

John smirked "Couldn't resist."

Sam laughed. Whoever said that their dad was the serious one had never actually stopped to look closely.

"You know, you're a hypocrite." The youngest Winchester said, "All these times you'd yell at us because of a little prank, but still you're making Dean go to the church just because you think it's funny? How is that different?" he asked, barely able not to laugh.

"It's different…" John started, not sure about what we was about to say. Then a smile crept on his lips "Because I'm your father. I have the right to make fun of you guys."

"Oh, really?" Sam laughed.

John chuckled. It wasn't often that he and Sam got along so well, and he enjoyed every bit of it. Still, he promised himself to by a pizza for diner so Dean wasn't too mad at him.

* * *

'_So, let's sum it up. Dad makes me go to the church, takes me twenty freaking minutes. Then once I come here, the priest says he never noticed anything wrong about that guy and then tries to knock some faith into me. Then I have to take another twenty minutes ride so I can tell dad how useless it has all been. God I hate churches.'_

Dean's thoughts were broken as he became aware of footsteps behind him. Someone was following him. _'Great, a mugger. Just what I needed to complete this fucked up day.'_

He kept on walking, acting as if he didn't notice anything. But a heavy hand on his shoulder made him change his plans. Quickly drawing out his gun, he turned around and brought his arm up, pushing the man against the nearest wall and keeping him there with his arm across the man's chest.

"Why were you following me?" Dean asked, holding his gun in front of the man's face. The man just smirked, not the least bit impressed.

"I was looking forward to meet you Dean." He said. _'How the hell does he know my name?'_ Dean thought.

"Why?"

"Because I want to hurt you so your dad understands I mean business."

Dean laughed. "Oh yeah? And how are you gonna do that, huh? Cause last time I checked, you were alone and I was the one with the gun."

The man's smirk grew wider. "What makes you think I'm alone?"

Dean barely had time to consider the question before feeling something heavy hit the back of his head, and then everything went black.

**TBC…**

* * *

_Cliffie here! _

_Please, tell me what you think!_

nerwende


	3. Not Just A Dream

**3. Not Just A Dream**

_Sam could taste blood in his mouth as he struggled to take a breath. A hand gripping his chin made him look in his tormentor's eyes "So, Dean, where's your daddy now that you need him?"_

"_I'm not Dean." Sam choked out, "I'm Sam."_

_The man didn't seem to hear him though, and he threw Sam to the ground, got up and started to kick him in the ribs, looking satisfied when he felt some of them give away under his foot._

"_Come on, Deano, what did your dad train you for?"_

"_I-I'm not Dean!"_

"_Sam!"_

His father's voice woke Sam up. He looked around, slowly getting back to reality. He was sitting at the table, his laptop in front of him.

"You probably fell asleep doing research." John said, "You were shaking and moaning, so I thought I'd wake you up."

Sam blushed a little. He was _moaning_? "Yeah, another nightmare." He said.

"I figured. What was it about?"

"I… There were people beating me up. They thought I was Dean."

A look of understanding crossed John's face. "Ah, that explains it."

"What?"

"You were saying 'I'm not Dean', over and over."

Sam yawned. "I was?"

"Yeah." For a moment, John looked worried. "Boy, you look like hell. When's the last time you had a good night sleep?"

Sam smirked. "You sound like Dean."

"No I don't." John said, then added "_He_ sounds like me. I was here first, remember?"

Sam chuckled, but sobered quickly. "Hey Dad?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Do you… do you think it has a meaning?"

John frowned "What?"

"These nightmares. I keep dreaming about Dean being beaten up. I couldn't remember them at first, but now I'm pretty sure that's what I dreamt about last night. Do you think that means anything?"

John seemed to consider for a moment. "You said they didn't feel like visions."

"They don't."

"Then they're just nightmares. Don't worry about it."

Sam seemed to relax a little, then glanced at his watch. 12:15. "Where's Dean, anyway?" he asked, "He should be here by now."

"Called him twice." John said. For the first time since he woke up, Sam noticed the worried look on his father's face. "You know your brother, he probably stopped to get some food or some girl."

Sam nodded, feeling a pit in his stomach. Dean was never late. Ever. Even for food or girls. Sam swallowed hard. What if…

"What if something happened to him?"

John looked up sharply "Nothing happened to him. He's just fifteen minutes late."

* * *

Pain. Lots and lots of pain. That's all Dean could acknowledge for the moment.

He looked up from the ground where he had fallen only moments ago. Blood was pouring out of his mouth, and he was pretty sure he had at least two broken ribs. His nose had assumed an awkward angle, and his hands were so mutilated that he was surprised there's even any skin left at all.

His legs felt like they were on fire. He knew they were not even sprained, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't be ready to carry his weight again anytime soon.

His tormentors were looking down at him, laughing as he tried to sit up, but just couldn't gather the strength to do it. One of them, the leader Dean assumed, kneeled in front of him, still grinning, and lightly grabbed his face. Dean tried to wiggle free, but he was so weak from the beating that the man had no real trouble keeping his head still.

"You'll tell your father" the man said, stroking Dean's face with the side of his knife blade "that this is our message for him. If he doesn't come to us, we'll keep playing with you." And Dean would have laughed if it didn't threaten to hurt his injured ribs even more. If that's what they called playing, he certainly didn't want to fight with them. Gathering what blood and saliva he could get in his mouth, he slightly tilted his head back before spitting as hard as he could in the man's face. He flashed him his most cocky grin, but that only earned him another punch in the face, then another, then another.

It had been going on for about twenty minutes, but to Dean it felt more like twenty years. He was out to get information on the hunt his dad, Sam and he had been working on. But he hadn't quite made it to his care when these guys attacked him. Of course he had tried fighting them, after all he was a Winchester. But what can one guy do against five to seven armed and angry lunatics?

After a short while, the blows stopped coming, and Dean couldn't help but wonder what was next. He tried again to sit up, but to no avail. He shot the man a murderous look, not even caring about the 

betraying tears that were still wet on his cheeks. He hasn't even tried to wipe them away. He didn't care if they see him cry, he just wanted it to be over and for one crazy split second, he thought it was. But the man grabbed his face again and slowly put his knife in Dean's mouth.

Dean froze, staying as still as possible. What's the plan now? Cut off his tongue? That thought was enough to send shivers down his spine. "Why so serious?" the man spoke again, and now Dean was sure he's just a nut job. 'Why so serious?' he thought, 'What the hell does that mean?'

And then it all came back. Sam's words echoed in his head. _'That's all I can remember. I remember a voice saying 'Why so serious?''_

He hated it, but he started shaking as he felt the blade slowly being turned in his mouth. His eyes widened in fear as he felt it dig in the corner of his mouth _'No, not that!'_

The man just kept grinning "You know" he said casually, as if talking about the weather "you really ought to smile more often. Let's put a smile to this face…"

Dean looked in the man's eyes, silently pleading him not to do that, but his hopes where short lived and he screamed as pain blinded him.

* * *

**TBC…**

_Yeah, I know, I hurt Dean again._

_Reviews are still loved, you know!_

nerwende


	4. Leave A Message

**4. Leave A Message**

_"This is Dean, leave a message."_

"Dean, I don't know where you are, but you better be back real soon! You're five hours late!" John yelled into his phone. It was about the umpteenth message he left his son, and he was really starting to get worried. Just as he hung up, his youngest walked in the room. For a moment John expected Dean to follow, but Sam closed the door and John's frown grew deeper.

"I couldn't find him" Sam says, trying to keep his voice from shaking, "The priest says Dean only stayed in the church for a few minutes, and he hasn't seen him ever since. And no one else saw him today."

John sighed. Why did he have to pull a prank on Dean and make him go there? He couldn't help but feeling guilty.

"What do we do?" Sam asked at least for the twentieth time that day. And John really wished he had an answer, but he didn't.

"I don't know." He finally said.

They'd called Bobby, Caleb and Pastor Jim, Sam had just checked the church and the nearest bars, but no one knew where Dean was. It was like he'd stepped over the edge of the earth. After thinking for a while, John got to his feet and grabbed his keys. "We go to the hospital. Ask if they saw him."

Sam chewed on his bottom lips and gave his father a slight nod. He couldn't help but think about his nightmares. He hoped they were just that, nightmares.

"Sam!" John snapped and Sam realized he'd just stood there as his dad was rushing to get to the hospital. Grabbing his jacket, he quickly followed his father.

* * *

"I'm John Anderson, I need to know if you admitted my son, Dean."

The nurse just stared at John for a moment before turning back to her computer and God, was it possible to type slower? After what felt like an eternity, she finally looked up.

"Yes, your son has been admitted a few hours ago. Looks like a case of mugging."

Sam's mouth was suddenly very dry. "Mugging?"

The nurse nodded sadly. "He was found in an alley by a team of policemen. They said there were about seven armed men around him. The police managed to arrest three of them, but the rest ran away. Your brother was lucky to be found. God only knows what would have happened otherwise."

Sam looked down. They weren't just nightmares. _'I knew it! Why couldn't I remember it when I needed to?'_

"What room is he in?" John asked urgently. The nurse gave him an incredulous look.

"He left against medical advice, just a moment ago." She said.

Both father and son looked at each other before rushing out of the hospital.

For once, Sam didn't complain about John's driving. All he could think of was Dean. "If he went back home, it means it can't be that bad, right?" he asked his father. John swallowed hard before answering.

"Someone could chop off your brother's leg and he'd still say it's nothing." He said. Sam looked down. Yeah, Dean was always good at downplaying his injuries.

Sighing, Sam looked outside the window, praying it wasn't that bad.

* * *

The first thing they saw as they got to their room was Dean. They'd expected him to be lying half dead in the coach but there he was, standing in front of the window, looking at the darkness outside. He was quiet and still, '_too still'_ Sam thought.

"Dean?" John called softly. Dean turned his head ever so slightly, but still didn't face them.

"Where were you?" he asked, barely above a whisper. Sam couldn't help but think that it sounded like Dean didn't dare to open his mouth too wide.

"Where were _we_?" John growled, barely containing his anger. Now that he knew Dean was mostly okay, he needed to take out the anger he'd made out of his worry, even if it was misplaced, "We were looking for you! Why didn't you give us a call?"

Dean looked back at the sky "They broke my phone. I had no way to call you. That's why I left the hospital AMA. I wanted to come home as soon as I could."

John and Sam looked at each other. Dean seemed okay alright, but something felt wrong, _very _wrong. "Dean?" Sam called. But Dean didn't react.

"Dean" John said firmly, in an attempt to make his son snap out of it, "Turn around."

For a moment, they all stood like that. John and Sam waiting, Dean turning his back to them. John was about to talk again, but Dean beat him to it. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

"What?"

"I'm sorry." Dean repeated, "I should have been able to fight them, but I wasn't strong enough."

"No Dean, don't say that." Sam says brokenly, "There were seven armed men. Nobody could have fought them." He looked at his father as if to dare him to say otherwise. But John wasn't about to.

"You're brother's right, Dean. It's not your fault." They heard Dean sniffle, and they could have sworn they'd both felt their hearts break.

"Dean" John tried again, "Look at me now. I'm tired of talking to your back." He meant it to come out like a joke, but even to his own ears it sounded like a plea.

Dean seemed to hesitate for a moment. "I don't want you to see this." He said finally. Sam wondered what could have been so bad that Dean didn't want them to see. "They said it was a message for you, dad." Dean went on, "They said if you didn't come to them…" he trailed off, reluctant to deliver their message. "They'd keep… _playing_." He spat out the word like it tasted bad.

John felt like he'd been slapped hard across the face. It wasn't just a mugging. Someone had hurt his boy to get to him. Unconsciously, he clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He took a deep breath to calm himself down before asking the question that needed an immediate answer. "They? 'They' who, Dean?"

"Don't know them."

John sighed and looked down. He didn't know them _yet_. He swore to himself he'd find out who did this to his son. But not now. Right now Dean needed him.

"Dean," he said again, "You need to turn around now."

Dean took a deep breath then slowly, very slowly, turned around to face his father and brother. And both of them gasped in horror at the sight before them.

**TBC…**

* * *

_Oh my God, what's happening? Lol hope you liked that chapter._

_See y'all tomorrow for the next one._

_Don't forget my reviews, though!_

nerwende


	5. Finding Out

**5. Finding Out**

"_Dean," John said again, "You need to turn around now."_

_Dean took a deep breath then slowly, very slowly, turned around to face his father and brother. And both of them gasped in horror at the sight before them._

It wasn't Dean's black eye that scared them. It wasn't the fact that Dean kept an arm wrapped around his injured ribs. It wasn't even his almost skinless hands. None of it caused the hater in John's heart or the tears in Sam's heart. No, what scared them the most was the mess that was once his mouth.

Two deep scars went from each corner on his mouth and ran almost all the way up to his ears, making it look like a hideous permanent grin. Even though they had been stitched up, they were still red and bloodied, making and startling contrast with the pallor of Dean's skin and the tears in his eyes. It was plainly obvious that it had been excruciatingly painful and that it certainly still hurt. _'That's why he was talking like that' _Sam thought grimly,_ 'he was afraid to pull his stitches.'_

Dean looked down, afraid to look up and see Sam's tears and John's disappointment. But after a while, he decided that silence was worse. "Say something." He almost begged, still looking down at his feet. And John really wanted to say something, but he was at a loss for words. He felt like the day four year old Dean asked why his mom wasn't coming home.

When nobody talked, Dean sighed. "They did a great job with stitching me up though. But they say I'll bear the scars for a long time. Maybe for all my life." He gave a humorless chuckle. "But they won't always be this visible. In a couple of _years_ all that's gonna be left is a thin line. At least that's what they think."

Sam walked up to Dean and the older brother smirked as he took a step back. "Dude, don't even think about hugging me." He said, and Sam would have laughed if the scars didn't make it look like his face was contorted in an evil grin. Instead he gave Dean a sad nod.

"Are you…" John cleared his throat and went on, "Are you hurt somewhere else?"

Dean seemed grateful to have something else to talk about. "Yeah, my nose's broken, so are three of my ribs, they sprained my left wrist and I've got some nasty bruises, but nothing too serious."

"Nothing too serious?! Dean, look at you, they _disfigured _you!" John yelled. He then picked up the keys he'd dropped without even noticing and was about to storm out before Dean's voice stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

"These bastards want me? I'm gonna go find them and let them know what I think."

"No!" Dean practically screamed, making both his father and his brother jump and for a moment, Sam was afraid his brother might have actually pulled a stitch. "That's exactly what they want you to do! They'll be waiting for you, you won't make it out of it in one piece!"

"So what am I supposed to do?" John yelled back, "Accept it, pack it in?"

"Yes! Yes, I want you to suck it up at least for now! It's my face they mutilated and if I can wrap my head around it, so can you!"

John hesitated for a moment, but finally realizing Dean was right, he nodded shortly. It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming. Dean certainly didn't need that right now. His eldest nodded back. Then he looked like he couldn't bear staying in the room. "I'm gonna take a shower." He mumbled, quickly making his way to the bathroom.

John and Sam just stood there for a moment. Then Sam let himself fall on a chair, burying is face in his head. So, _that _was what the man was about to do in his nightmare. He felt so numb that he didn't even notice that his hands were shaking. He looked up when he heard John walk around. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Need some fresh air. And a beer." When he saw the look on his son's face, John quickly added "Don't worry, I'll just go to a bar. I'm not hunting them down tonight. I promise." Sam considered for a moment, but he was fairly certain his dad was sincere, so he nodded. When he found himself alone in the room, he let out the tears he'd been holding back since he first saw Dean's face.

* * *

Dean had the shower running, but he didn't even undress yet. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at his damaged face. The doctor had made a great job alright, but so had the guy that cut his cheeks apart. Gently, tentatively, he ran his fingers along the scars, wincing when he hit tender spots.

'_I look like Nicholson in Batman'_ Dean smirked at the thought and for a split second, his own reflection scared him. _'God I look even worse than that.' _He sighed again and proceeded to take off his clothes, which took him a hell of a lot longer than usual.

Standing in the shower with hot water running down his body felt suspiciously like the better thing he's ever had in his life. Hadn't it been for the cuts and bruises that made if painful, it would have been his perfect place. Because there, he didn't need to act like it was no big deal, he didn't need to hold back his tears. They would mix with the shower water so he didn't have to even know if he was crying or not.

* * *

When Dean walked back in the room and sat on his bed, Sam didn't complain about how long he'd stayed in the bathroom. Instead he went to sit next to his big brother needing now more than ever to hear him say that everything was gonna be okay. But when Dean said nothing, Sam knew he was the one that had to do the comforting. But what could he possibly say that would make Dean feel better?

"I'm sorry" he tried, making Dean look at him and God, it hurt to look at him right now, "I… I remember my nightmare now, and I'm sorry I couldn't do it before. We would have been able to protect you…"

"Don't worry about it Sammy." Dean said softly. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is, Dean! If I'd remembered I would have been able to warn you…"

"Sam, it's okay."

"No it's not! Why is it okay with you after what happened?"

Dean tried to find an answer to that, but shrugged when he didn't. "Where's dad?" he asked, in an attempt to change the subject. Sam thought about ignoring the question, but then again he needed something else to focus on for a second.

"He just went out." He said, and went on when Dean looked alarmed, "Just when to get a drink. He's not going after them, he promised he wouldn't."

"But they might be out there, waiting for him to…"

"Dean, it's okay." Sam assured him, "Nothing's gonna happened to dad. Besides, you know him. Do you think I would have been able to stop him if I'd tried?"

Dean smiled a little at that. "Probably not." Sam nodded. He looked at the scars on his brother's face and slowly reached out, withdrew his hand a little when Dean flinched then lightly touched Dean's injuries when he was sure his brother was okay with it.

"That must have been painful." He stated, feeling like an idiot for saying something so obvious. Dean smiled sadly at that.

"Vicious too. They don't just cut in your cheeks, they cut the corners of your mouth and then manage to get you to scream. And when you do…" Dean made a tearing sound with his mouth that tightened the knot inhabiting Sam's stomach. "Sorry." Dean said when he saw the colors leave his brother's cheeks. "Anyway," he said, "Like I said, it's not your fault alright? Don't beat yourself up over it… What?" he asked as he saw Sam wince.

"Dude… bad choice of words." Dean thought about it for a moment then smiled apologetically. They were silent for a moment, but there was something Dean needed to tell his brother, even though he was sure Sam would feel even more guilty.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"When they did that to me… wanna take a wild guess what they asked me?" Sam froze. Swallowing hard, he nodded then said those words he'd never forget…

"Why so serious?"

* * *

**TBC…**

_Thanks for reading. Even more thanks to those who are gonna leave a review!_

_See you tomorrow for the next chapter!_

nerwende


	6. What's A Father To Do?

**6. What's A Father To Do?**

John sat at a table, a beer in his hand. He'd been there for quite a while now, but he hadn't even touched it. He just sat there, staring straight ahead. At first he'd thought that if he got drunk enough, he'd be able to forget his first born's battered face, but now he realized it wouldn't accomplish anything because the scars would still be there in the morning.

He put his glass back on the table and sighed heavily. He couldn't help but feel guilty about what had happened to Dean. All because of a little prank. He knew Dean would forgive him in a heartbeat. Hell, the kid was probably sure it wasn't his dad's fault. Dean only blamed one person for this, and it was himself.

John gave a low chuckle. He blamed himself, Dean blamed himself and Sam certainly blamed himself too. The hunter would probably give anything just to catch the guys that did this to his son so he could show them a little hell. He'd gotten over the urge to kill them, because he decided it would be an easy way out.

John sighed again, glancing at his watch. He'd been sitting there and staring at nothing for about an hour. The boys were probably worried he'd done anything stupid, like chasing the sons of bitches anyway. He knew a good father would go home now and reassure his boys. A good father would take his eldest in his arms and promise him everything will be alright.

A good father wouldn't ever risk his sons' lives over a stupid revenge.

It wasn't the first time John questioned the way he'd raised his sons. Usually, he would just tell himself it was for their own good and that was it. But now the image of the obscene grin burned on his son's face was there to make the difference. All these times he'd gotten his sons in danger, was it really worth it? He knew he'd raised them quite well, all things considered, but was that a good enough argument?

Even though Dean would never admit it, John knew the kid had been deeply hurt, and not only physically. Because this time it wasn't just an angry spirit or a mad werewolf. The attackers were human, and they only did it to get to John. And the scars… that obscene grin would probably take a very long time to disappear.

John ran a hand over his face to clear the tiredness and sorrow. What was he supposed to do now? Walk back in the room and act like nothing happened? Sam would yell at him if he did that. Go to Dean and hug him, tell him he was sorry? Dean would shrug and say it's not a big deal before changing the subject.

'_Damned if you do, damned if you don't.' _he thought. What was a father to do when his son needed him to fix something that only time could fix? What good would "it'll be alright, Dean" do?

Making up his mind, John stood up and left his untouched drink on the table. He left the bar, promising himself to make the ones that hurt his boy regret it for all their miserable lives.

* * *

"Stop it, you're making me sick!" Sam groaned, slapping Dean's hand. It was the umpteenth time he'd said it in an hour, but his brother didn't seem to understand.

"It itches." Dean said lamely and Sam really felt sorry for him, but he was pretty sure that if Dean kept on scratching his scars, he was gonna pull his stitches. Or make his brother throw up.

"How can you even touch it?" Sam asked, a disgusted look on his face.

"Easy: I raise my hand, bend my fingers and bring my nails to my cheek." Dean said with and outrageously large grin. Of course the scars didn't help. Sam huffed.

"You're unbelievable." He said as he grabbed some of his stuff and got in the bathroom. Once he was alone, he took the deep breath he'd needed for quite a while. He tried closing his eyes but try as he might, he couldn't make the image of Dean's devastated face go away. _'Demons I get. People are crazy.' _He thought, smirking to himself.

He took a quick shower, got dressed and walked back in the room. Dean had obviously thought it wasn't necessary to wait for his brother to sleep. He lay under his covers, his breathing even, his face peaceful. Sam smiled softly and quietly went to his own bed. He just hoped his father would be back soon. But sleep won the battle and soon both brothers were sleeping peacefully.

* * *

John was surprised to find both of his sons asleep. He quietly put his keys on the table and took off his jacket and shoes. Then he went to sit on the edge of Dean's be and lightly touched the scars, careful not to wake Dean.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, "This was never what I wanted for you." He remembered the times he'd done that when Dean was a kid, just come to him when he was sleeping and talk to him softly. But this time, he didn't even have time to get up when Dean opened his eyes.

"Not your fault." The younger man mumbled sleepily. Then he looked at his father, a small smile on his lips, "Yeah I was awake. But you know, every time you did this I was awake. I was just pretending to sleep."

"Really?" John asked, taken aback, "Now why would you do that?"

Dean looked a little embarrassed for a moment. "You wouldn't talk to me when I was awake, so this was the only way I had to know what was on your mind. And it seemed to help you too, so I thought it wouldn't hurt just to let you talk."

John fought back the tears that threatened to fall. Trust Dean to do something like this. "It did help." He said, and Dean's smile grew wider. But this time even the scars weren't enough to make it look bad. John softly patted his first born's shoulder. "Go back to sleep, kiddo." Being exhausted, Dean hadn't really waited for his father's permission though.

When he was sure his son was asleep for good, John got up and made his way to the bathroom. What was a father to do? He didn't worry about it now, because if he didn't know the answer, he knew Dean did.

**TBC…**

* * *

_So… am I forgiven for the previous chapters? _

_It's still not over though! See you tomorrow to see what happens!_

nerwende


	7. An Old Friend

**7. An Old Friend**

It was his own phone ringing that awoke John. He rubbed his tired eyes and glanced at his watch. _'Four in the morning. Brilliant.' _Inwardly cursing the caller for waking him this way, he made his way sleepily to the kitchen table where he'd left his phone.

"Hello?" he mumbled in the receiver.

"_Hello, John. Didn't wake you up, did I_?" a sarcastic voice said. John didn't know why, but the stranger's voice made him feel uncomfortable.

"Who is this?" he asked, and the man on the other end laughed.

"_Why Johnny, you hurt me! I thought you'd remember my voice_!" That didn't help. But just as John was about to reply, the man went on. _"So, how's Dean? Not too shaken, is he?"_

John was puzzled for a second. How could he possibly know…? And then he froze. The man that hurt his son was calling him just to mock him? What kind of bad fiction was that? "You did this to him, didn't you?" he growled, but that only made the man laugh again.

"Dad?" he heard his eldest's voice behind him, "What's wrong?" John raised a hand to silence his son. Dean looked annoyed but nodded nonetheless, knowing now wasn't the time to push.

"_My buddies told me he's been stitched up pretty good. I'm glad to hear it, cause I kinda like him. He's so fun to play with." _John could feel his blood boil up in his veins. A quick glance at his father's face was enough to worry Dean. _"Oh John, don't be too mad at us. When he was a kid you always said he didn't smile often. Just see the funny part: now he's smiling all the time!" _

"You son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for what you did to him!" _'Ah, so it comes to this' _Dean thought. He smirked as he saw John's knuckles turn white. He wasn't doing that good himself, but he sure as hell didn't want the man's place right now.

"_Now, now, Johnny, is that a way to talk to an old friend?"_ the man teased, _"But let's be serious for a second. I called you to deliver a message." _The man paused but when John waited, he went on, _"I'm pretty sure Dean's told you before, but I wanted to make sure he hasn't downplayed it. This was only for show. If you don't come to us, your son's gonna suffer even more because of you."_

And before John could say anything, the line went dead. He threw his phone back on the table, trying to suppress the urge to punch someone, because the only someone in the room with him was Dean, and that wasn't an option. He looked at his son and could tell he was dying to ask him about the phone call, and he knew he had to tell him.

"He delivered his message." John said, counting on Dean to understand. Sure enough, his son did.

"I already have." Dean said simply.

"Wanted to make it clear."

Dean nodded slightly, but winced when that hurt his throbbing head, and cursed when the wince sent a sharp pain to his cheeks. "What are you gonna do?"

John looked at his son like he'd grown an extra head. "What do you mean? I'm gonna go after them! Hunt them down, make them pay for it!"

"Dad, I thought we'd covered that ground, you just _can't_! They're ready to get you if you do that! You have to lay low at that's it."

"They'll try to get you!"

"I'll stick with you and Sammy, nothing can happen to me. Just…" Dean looked away, trying to find the right words. "Just let it go, just this once. _Please."_

John looked down at his feet, unable to look at his son anymore, the scars a constant reminder of his failure. He didn't understand how Dean could ask such a thing of him. How was he supposed to let these guys go after what happened? How was he supposed to forget when the hideous scars seemed to mock him every time he dared to look at his first born?

"Dad." Dean's voice made John look up. "I had time to observe them, you know. They don't care about risks and they don't even hesitate before making a move. They went all_ Clockwork Orange _on me and all I could do was grit my teeth and take it. And you know that I'm not beat that easily." A ghost of Dean's trademark smirk appeared on his lips, and John didn't know if he was glad or scared to see it. "But they beat me, and they beat me well. And no offence, but I don't think you'd last long if they got a grip on you."

Suddenly John found it harder to breathe. He couldn't bear the thought of people hurting Dean, but his son's speech brought images to his brain that he hoped he'd never see. He knew Dean was right, but he just couldn't _lay low_. He was a Winchester for God's sake.

But looking at his son's expecting eyes, he knew laying low was exactly what he needed to do. So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly nodded. When he opened his eyes again, Dean was smiling. Not a smirk or a fake smile, a real smile. "Thank you Dad." He said.

John acknowledged Dean's statement by another nod. He was afraid that if he talked his voice would break and Dean would try to comfort him, when _he _was the one that really needed to be comforted. He swallowed, try to get a grip on his emotions. When he felt it was safe to talk again, he gave Dean a small smile. "You should go back to sleep. You must be really tired to make allusions to such a crappy movie."

Dean laughed. "Hey, it's the closest I could get. And it was a classic I might add."

"Go to bed." John chuckled, giving Dean a playful shove. "You look horrible."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, love you too."

Once he was alone again, John allowed himself to drop on the couch. He ran a tired hand on his face, surprised to feel wetness on his cheeks. He was glad Dean was gone before the tears came though. He never would have gone back to bed if he'd known his father was crying.

John had made an almost impossible promise to his son, but he still intended not to break it. But God help these bastards if they tried to get to Dean again.

**TBC...**

* * *

_Okay, I know I say it a lot, but thanks for reading cause it does mean a lot. _

_And I'm sorry for all the Clockwork Orange fans, but I didn't like that movie! lol Plus it was just my (although respectful) opinion through John's mouth so no need to be mad at me for that._

_Also, for the record, I put a Joker line in there. Did you recognize it? If so, let me know!_

_And I do love reviews, so don't be shy!_

_See y'all tomorrow!_

nerwende


	8. A Simple Salt'n'Burn?

**8. A Simple Salt'n'Burn?**

"Sam, you coming or what ?" Dean yelled from the opened door, « Casper won't wait for us all day ! »

"Comin'." Sam grumbled. He was still amazed by Dean's recovering gift. Give him a few hours sleep and he's ready to face the world again. "You sure you alright? Cause if you don't feel like it…"

Dean sighed dramatically. "For the last time, Sammy, I'm _fine_! I had my ass kicked before, you know!"

"Not like this."

The older brother rolled his eyes, but his smart ass comeback was cut short by their dad's voice, "Boys! Anytime now!"

Dean put his jacket on, swaying a little as vertigo gripped him. He was pretty sure he didn't have a concussion, but it didn't keep his head from throbbing. It took him a second to get a grip, but he sure didn't miss Sam's glare. Dean stared daggers at him brother and, still looking him dead in the eyes, he yelled "Coming!" at his father. "I'm fine." He told Sam before grabbing his duffle and exiting the room. Sam just shook his head and followed, like he always did.

John grumbled as his sons finally came out, "Thought I was gonna have to get you two out myself."

"Sammy couldn't find his teddy bear." Dean said with his usual cocky grin, which got him a punch on the shoulder from Sam, who didn't miss his brother wincing. But he didn't apologize, though. It was Dean's own fault after all, nobody forced him to come with. Of course nobody had told him about the phone call, so he didn't know what was at stake. For now, he was just mad at his brother for being Daddy's good little soldier. Again.

"So you finally found this guy's name?" Sam asked his father as he climbed behind the wheel. Dean has protested about Sam driving his beloved car, but John had been untreatable about it. A small victory for Sam, who still insisted Dean wasn't up for the hunt.

"Yep, James Sampson. Died at the age of forty five in a car accident. Been haunting and killing for a few months, but you already knew that."

"Do we know why?"

John shrugged. "We don't, but that's not really the point, right? All we have to do is salt'n'burn the sucker."

"Boring." Dean groaned.

"Not like you could take anything harder." Sam muttered. Dean let his middle finger tell his brother what he thought about it. From the back seat, John sighed dramatically.

"If you two are done, maybe we could get back to business." He grumbled.

"Yes, sir." Both sons answered in unison.

"And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"If I see you raise that finger one more time I'll cut it off."

Dean gulped and Sam had to bite down his tongue to stop his chuckle from escaping his lips.

* * *

"Okay, he's here." John said rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them up. The cemetery was filled with fog, which made finding the grave a lot harder. Sam had been ranting about the cold and Dean had been… well, he'd been Dean. Making smart ass comments to hide the pain he was actually in. But his father and brother could see right through it.

"Sam, you start digging with me." John ordered as he handed his youngest a shovel. Sam nodded, giving his father a knowing and somewhat grateful look. He turned just in time to see Dean reach for another shovel. "Dean, what do you think you're doing?" John almost barked.

Dean looked up at his father, puzzled. "Well, that may sound insane, but I thought it'd be faster than if I dug with my nails."

"You're not digging, you're just staying there and watch out in case someone comes."

"But…"

"No buts."

Dean grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Fuck that" but John and Sam both pretended they didn't notice. At least Sam did because John really hadn't heard.

Dean rubbed at his scars thoughtfully, secretly grateful they'd waited for the night to go out because the last thing he'd wanted was to face people disgusted or pitying looks. He knew he would have to, someday, but the later the better.

He was startled out of his thoughts when John cursed loudly. "What, what's wrong?" Dean asked.

"I forgot the lighter fluids." John groaned. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"No problem, I'll go get it." He said, already turning to leave.

"What? No!" John yelled. Sam looked at him in confusion and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Dad, the cars a few feet away. I'll be back in a second."

John looked hesitantly around. The car was indeed near from them, but Dean had to turn the corner made by the trees to get there, and the fog made it impossible for his dad to see him if he did. But John also knew every second counted and he couldn't exactly tell Sam to drop his shovel, climb out of the grave and go when Dean was up on the ground.

"Okay." He finally said, "But you better hurry." Dean nodded and took off swiftly. Sam looked at his father quizzically, but John just shrugged it off and kept digging.

They were both startled by Dean yelling "Can't find it!" and Sam swore, not for the first time, that someday he was gonna kill his brother.

"Well look harder Dean, it's in the damn trunk!" John yelled back. "So much for being discreet." The eldest grumbled.

"Almost jumped out of my skin." Sam agreed. But deep down they both knew why Dean had yelled like that. He'd been gone for quite a while and just wanted to keep them from worrying.

When they finally got to the coffin, John unceremoniously broke the lid and Sam salted James Sampson's remains. When they heard footsteps coming their way, John held out his hand, waiting for Dean to give him the lighter fluids. But when nothing came, he looked up and cursed under his breath at what he was seeing.

There, above him, stood seven men circling his eldest. One of them had an arm across his chest and a knife to his throat. And the sucker was grinning triumphantly, enjoying the power he was holding now.

"John Winchester." He said, "At last we meet again."

Dean was holding perfectly still in the man's grip. "I'm sorry." He mouthed to his father. But John slightly shook his head, letting Dean know it wasn't his fault.

"Okay, now here's the fire fluids." The man said, throwing the can to John. "You two get out of this grave and finish whatever it is you're doing. Then we go for a ride. But don't you guys dare to do anything… _hinky_." He smiled cruelly, pressing the blade a little deeper, a single drop of blood sliding down Dean's throat.

Beaten, John and Sam had no choice but do what they were told. As soon as they were out of the grave, the rest of the team searched them and took their weapon, adding them to Dean's.

When it was clear, the leader nodded to them and two of the men knocked Sam and John unconscious. Dean gasped as their bodies hit the ground but didn't have time to react before he suffered the same fate.

**TBC…**

* * *

_Oops… I did it again! _

_Reviews are still love. I know I say it all the time, but hey, you guys aren't helping! Lol_

_See y'all tomorrow!_

nerwende


	9. Mack The Knife

**9. Mack The Knife**

The first thing Sam was aware of was the fact that he couldn't move.

The second one was that he was kneeling in the mud.

The third one was that the room was fucking _cold_.

He cracked his eyes open, taking in his surroundings. He tried again to move, but found himself incapable of doing so, and he soon understood why. He was on his knees with his back against a post. His arms were stretched out behind him and his wrists and ankles were tied up behind the post. Grunting, he looked around, trying to find his father and brother. He spotted his still unconscious father a few feet on his left, tied the same way he was. Sam looked ahead of him and saw Dean, sitting there with his back against the wall. He too was still out of it.

Sam blinked. His brother wasn't tied up at all. That could only mean two things. One: these guys would come back to hurt Dean. Two: Dean was already dead.

Sam shook his head. He wouldn't have any of the two. He cleared his throat then called. "Dean?" Nothing. "Dean! Come on dude, wake up!" Dean moaned a little but didn't wake up. _'Well, at least he's alive' _Sam thought grimly.

He huffed impatiently then turned to his father. "Dad, wake up, we're in deep shit!" he almost yelled. And waited. And waited. He always thought his dad was annoying when he scolded them for using the very rude words he used himself, but right now Sam wished his dad would wake up and yell at him for his choice of words.

He was about to call again when his dad's eyelids slowly fluttered open. The eldest Winchester looked around the same way Sam did, groaning when he saw the mess he and his boys were into.

"Sammy?" he almost whispered, "What happened?"

Sam smiled a little. "Looks like they knocked us out then brought us here and we're in trouble. Again."

John sighed. "Yeah, I can see that." He then turned to his eldest. "Dean! Wake up!" he barked. More nothing from Dean. "Dean, you wake up now, that's an order!" he said, keeping the worry out of his voice as best as he could.

After what felt like an eternity, Dean moaned again then opened his eyes. He looked at his father and brother, confused. Then everything came back to him and he tried to get up. The second try was successful, but cut short when the only door of the room opened and five men stepped in. John felt anger rise up inside him as he saw the leader still had that fucking grin on his face.

"Aw, Deano, you leaving already?" the man asked sarcastically. He gave his buddies a quick nod and two of them grabbed Dean a pulled him back down, keeping him there. The man seemed satisfied then turned to John.

"Hello, Johnny." He said casually. "I expect you still don't remember me?" John's puzzled look was an answer enough. "I'll take that as a no. So let's refresh your memory. Sixteen years ago, I called you about a poltergeist that seemed threatening. You came over with your kid here." He gestured toward Dean, "Said it wasn't that bad and it'd be over soon." The man gave a sarcastic chuckle.

"Turns out, it was a little more… _difficult_ then you thought. And one night you and your brat are in my house with us. And by _us_, I mean my daughter and me." The man clenched his hands into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. "But suddenly my house is on fire. We both get out, only to realize our kids are upstairs. You tell me to stay put and you run inside. You come back a while later, carrying _your _son. And when I ask you about my daughter, you say you didn't have time to reach her. And that's how I lost everything I had."

Realization dawned on John. More like fell on his head and almost knocked him out, actually. "Heverson." He muttered. Damn, how could he have forgotten about him? Swallowing hard, he tried to reason the man. "I remember now. I went upstairs. Dean was in one room with the EMF and you daughter was playing in the room opposite. I went to get Dean because he was closer but when I tried to get to her…" he trailed off as memories of her screams came flooding back to his memory.

Heverson snorted. "Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night." John sadly shook his head.

"That's the truth and you know it."

"I know no such thing." Heverson spat out. "All I know is you only cared about saving your own son. I'd already lost my wife and then I lose my daughter because of you."

"I tried!" John objected. "I tried to get to her, but I couldn't! It would only have gotten Dean and I killed, what was I supposed to do?"

"Try harder!" Heverson yelled back. For the first time his grin had completely vanished to be replace with pure fury. He looked down, trying to get a hold on his emotions. When he looked up, his face was blank, apart from the grin that had regained its place.

Sam had listened to everything they'd said. And the more he knew, the more he felt like Dean was in for a lot of pain. A quick glance at his brother told him that Dean already knew that as well. Sam tried to get free, but that only made the rope cut deeper in his skin.

Heverson's grin grew even wider and he walked up to Dean. He lowered himself and slightly, almost lovingly, caressed the scars on the young man's cheeks.

"You wanna know why I use knives?" He asked, an inhuman smile on his lips. It was obvious he was still talking to John. Without waiting for a response, he went on. "Because guns are too quick. You can't savor all the _emotions_. But with knives…" he gave a content sigh. "Knives are just perfect."

"You're sick." John spat.

"No, I'm not." Heverson chuckled humorlessly, "I like to think of myself as a regular Mack the Knife. But I won't just cut throats, because that wouldn't be as fun as what I'm gonna do to your boy." He turned to face John, cackling. "And all you and Sammy boy will be able to do is sit there and watch."

**TBC…**

* * *

_Who would have thought listening to Robbie Williams' "Swing When You're Winning" would make writing so easy? _

_And as maybe some of you figure out, I threw in a few Joker quotes. I'll probably keep doing that in the next chapters but remember: Heverson's not wearing make up, he doesn't have scars on his face and doesn't wear a purple suit. It's just a tribute I'm paying to the marvelous movie "The Dark Knight" and especially to an extremely talented actor I've admired ever since seeing him in "A Knight's Tale": Heath Ledger. _

_See you tomorrow, but be prepared for blood!_

nerwende


	10. Don't Scream

**WARNING:**** this chapter deals with extreme violence, including graphic torture and disturbing images. If any of this upsets you, read no further. **

**10. Don't Scream**

Following Heverson's order, two of his buddies stood on each side of the door. The other two went to stand between Sam and his father, ready to suppress any attempt of rescue. Satisfied with the whole situation, Heverson grabbed Dean by his hair and forced him look up at him. "I want you to know that everything that's gonna happen to you now is your dad's fault. These," he said, tracing Dean's scars with his thumb, "Were just the beginning. I won't even stop when you'll beg me to spare you."

Dean glared at the man, "Don't worry, I won't give you that satisfaction." He said through gritted teeth.

Heverson laughed dryly. "A little fight in you." He cooed, stroking Dean's short hair. "I like that."

Then without warning, he punched Dean in the gut. He didn't give his prisoner a chance to breathe through it before punching again, and again, and again.

"Stop it!" John yelled, a little surprised when Heverson actually obeyed. "You're right, it was my fault. Dean has nothing to do with it. He was just twelve, for God's sake! Just release him and Sammy and hurt me all you want!"

"But don't you see?" Heverson spoke slowly as if John was retarded or something. "I am hurting you, harder than I could do physically! What would be the point in beating you up? I'm here to teach you a lesson!"

Dean was panting, trying to catch his breath. "Dean." John called. When his son looked up, he was surprised to see defiance in those hazel eyes, when all he wanted to do was disappear from the face of the earth. "Whatever happens, don't scream." He said. Still panting, Dean nodded slowly.

"Oh, but he'll scream." Heverson cackled, "He'll scream himself mute, then he'll wait for me to just kill him." He then stood up and kicked Dean hard in the face. Dean groaned loudly as he was sure his nose had been ripped off of his face. Blood was flowing freely in his mouth and he tilted his head back to keep from choking on it.

"One for my baby." Heverson said, then kicked Dean's face, this time hitting Dean's temple, "And one more for the road." But then he seemed to decide Dean's ribs were more fun to play with, and he kicked them harshly more times Dean could count. But no matter what Heverson did, Dean didn't scream.

A few feet away, Sam was slowly going crazy. He'd tried to free himself, but to no avail. Then he'd tried to use telekinesis, but that fucking so called _gift_ wouldn't even work when needed the most. He looked desperately at his father, but he soon understood he was as helpless as himself.

Dean couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think. All he could do was feel. And of course, that was the last thing he wanted right now. He felt like one giant bruise. He wondered for a second if he was in little pieces inside, like in the cartoons when a character would fall into pieces. It has seemed funny at the time, but now it wasn't exactly a happy perspective.

Heverson seemed restless, landing blow after blow, kick after kick. And the pain was so bad and Dean was so tired… As he drifted off, he thought he could vaguely hear Sam's panicked voice calling his name. _'Just let me sleep Sammy.' _He thought.

"Okay, he's coming to. I can go on now."

Dean blinked a few time, wondering what the hell that could mean, but a solid punch in the guts was enough for him to remember.

John hated himself for it, because it meant Dean would get hurt more, but he'd been relieved when he saw Dean's eyelids flutter open.

After a while of punching and kicking, Heverson stopped as abruptly as he'd started. He went out for a moment, saying he'd be right back. Dean sucked in short, shaky breaths. He raised his hand, trying to rub at his burning eyes, but his arm felt like it weighed a ton. He looked at his family and smiled reassuringly at them despite the blood he was covered in.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Heverson said cheerfully as he went back in the room. Dean's eyes widened as he saw what was in his hands. "Oh don't worry, it'll just hurt… like hell." Heverson laughed at his own joke.

"And I thought my jokes were bad." Dean mumbled. Heverson backhanded him then went straight back to business.

"And here… we… go!" he said, pressing the red hot metal bar on the back of Dean's neck. Dean groaned, twisted and grabbed Heverson's arm, trying to make him let go. The pain was blinding. He could almost feel the bar make contact with his bones. He tried desperately to wriggle free, but he was just too weak.

Heverson waited a few more seconds before taking it off Dean. "There. Wasn't that bad, was it?" he asked innocently. But Dean didn't quite hear it. He could feel himself drift off again, and he would have gladly accepted the darkness if Heverson hadn't slapped him across the cheek.

Sam gagged as the smell of burnt skin filled the room. His heart broke with every thrust Dean made to try to escape, but try as he might, he still couldn't find a way to help his brother.

Dean was panting again, unable to take a real breath. Heverson looked at him again, then suddenly stood up. He looked angrier than Dean ever saw him. "That's enough!" he yelled. "So you wanna act strong, huh? You don't wanna scream? You wanna keep your pretty little stitches together?"

Heverson dropped to his knees and put his left hand on Dean's chin and his right hand a little above the scar there. "Well I'll have to do the handiwork myself." He said and with that, he pulled on Dean's skin, slowly and cruelly making Dean's cheek tear up all the way to his mouth.

This time Dean couldn't help but yell, tearing up his other cheek as he did so. John was yelling, Sam was crying, and Dean was sure he was gonna die right there. When he was satisfied, Heverson threw Dean on the ground and stood up. He nodded to his buddies and they exited the room. He then threw a knife a few inches from Dean's face. "Cut them free if you can." He mocked, kicking Dean in the ribs one last time before making his way to the door.

Before he went out though, he turned to John again. "Hope you'll enjoy watching him bleed out to death."

John let out a stream of curses to the closed door before turning to his eldest, who was barely breathing. "Dean!" he called forcefully, "Cut Sammy free, son." Dean looked at him, and John's heart ached at his son's opened wide face. "Come on Dean, you're strong you can do it. Sam's nearer from you, just cut him free, or at least give him the knife." When Dean didn't budge, John went on, "Everything's gonna be okay, Dean, I promise. Just give the knife to Sammy.

"Yeah, Dean." Sam encouraged, "Just give me the knife. I know you can do it."

Unable to form a coherent thought, Dean was confused for a moment. _'Why do they want the knife?'_ he wondered for a second. But it seemed important, so he decided to give it a try. He weakly gripped the knife, then tried to move toward his brother. Agony fired up his whole body and he cried out, trying to catch his breath.

"That's it, Dean." John said. "Breathe through it."

When he thought he could move without puking, Dean started crawling towards his brother. He knew Sam was only a few feet away, but they felt more like a thousand miles.

Finally he was able to put the knife in Sam's hand. "I got it." Sam said as he started to cut himself free. "Hang on, Dean, I'll be right there."

But Dean was way too exhausted to wait for them both to be ready. He collapsed right there beside his brother, thinking it was okay to sleep for a little while.

**TBC…**

_If anything, the tearing part made my cheeks ache. _

_I won't say I hope you enjoyed it, but I hope I did it right!_

nerwende


	11. He Always Does

**11. He Always Does**

"Dean!" Sam yelled as he saw Dean drift away, "Stay awake, don't you go to sleep!" He worked the knife faster on the thick rope, not caring whether he cut himself or not. The things he'd been forced to witness had filled him with fury, and there was no telling how he wanted to kill Heverson. But right now his main concern was his brother, who had just closed his eyes. Sam cursed as he saw Dean's body relax and his face become peaceful. _'Stay with me, Dean' _he thought, willing his brother to wake up.

He gave a sigh of relief when he felt the rope slide to the ground. He quickly got up, swaying a little on his weak legs. The fact he'd been kneeling on the ground for more than an hour didn't help matters much. He was dying to go to his brother's side, but he had to untie his father first. He quickly cut John free then, without a word, went to Dean. He put trembling fingers to his older brother's throat, waiting, _praying_ for a pulse to meet his fingertips. Seconds went by and Sam felt desperation grip his heart. Just as he was about to withdraw his hand, he felt it. It was weak and unsteady, but it was a pulse, and Sam could have cried with relief when he saw Dean's bloody chest slowly rise and fall.

John looked at his sons for a while, unable to move. He'd seen the look on Sam's face as he searched for a pulse and for a second, John thinks it's too late to save Dean. But then Sam gave a low, nervous chuckle and looks up at his father with tears in his eyes. "He's alive." Is all he says, but John is sure that is the most beautiful thing he'd ever said.

But then he snaps out of it. Dean might be alive, but they had to get him to a hospital _fast_ if they wanted him to stay that way. Without a word, John scooped Dean in his arms like he was four years old all over again, and Sam stood up and goes to the door to check the corridor. When he saw no one, he risked to go out and went for further investigations.

John waited, felling nervous as he waited for his youngest to come back. What if these bastards were waiting there for them to come out? What if they already got a grip on Sam? He took a deep breath, trying his best to keep panic at bay. He looked down at Dean's broken body, almost wishing that if he stared long and hard enough, he could make the wounds disappear. He looked at his son's face and cringed as he saw the blood covering his cheeks. But what really made him sick was the fact that he could see some of Dean's teeth even though his mouth was closed.

"Dad, looks like they left, we can go!" Sam's voice startling John out of his thoughts. John nodded then stood up, holding Dean firmly in his arms.

"Tell me there's a car outside." He almost begged his youngest, and Sam was surprised to hear such weakness in his dad's voice.

"There is." The youngest Winchester smiled. John let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Without another word, they both exited the room, then the building.

John laughed almost hysterically when he saw the Impala waiting in front of the building. Apparently, some of the guys had travelled in the car. _'Dean's gonna kill them if they messed with his baby' _he thought, wanting to see Dean wake up and cursed these guys for touching his car.

But Dean didn't wake up though. If anything, his face was even paler than before. Sam got behind the wheel as John went to sit on the back seat, making Dean lie beside him with his head on his father's lap. Sam didn't wait for permission and a second later, the Impala was running faster than she'd ever ran, tearing the darkness apart as she carried her family to the hospital.

* * *

John hated hospital. No, let me rephrase it: John really _hated _hospitals and dedicated them a pure hater. Of course, he'd never loved hospitals. But now, as he was sitting on one of the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room, waiting for a doctor to come tell him if his eldest will make it, he was sure he'd never hated a place as much as he hated hospitals.

A few minutes after Dean had been wheeled into surgery, Sam had gone out, saying he needed fresh air. John knew it was a façade, but he also knew Sam needed some time alone to put it together. Hell, John needed it himself, maybe even more than Sam.

He sat back in his seat, a deep sigh making its way out of his chest. He rubbed his face warily, hoping, _praying _Dean will pull through. _'He will.' _John thought, _'He always does.'_

* * *

As soon as he'd exited the hospital, Sam's knees had buckled, and he ended up on all fours, puking on the wet grass. His body shivered as his stomach emptied itself, the shock of what had happened in that building finally claimed its prize. _'Aftershock's a bitch' _Sam thought grimly.

After a while, the heaving stopped and Sam was left panting and shaking from head to toe. Slowly he sat back, away from the puddle of vomit that had formed on the ground. Leaning on the wall, he closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing through it. _'Dean's strong.' _He told himself, _'He'll be okay. Not like he's got a choice either. Cause there's no way I'm letting him go'._

It didn't loosen the knot in his stomach, though. Sighing, he stood up and walked groggily back in the waiting room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a doctor talking to John. Deciding he couldn't make himself walk in just about now, he waited and studied his father's reaction.

As the doctor talked, John tried to keep his face blank, but Sam didn't miss the sharp intakes of breath, or the faster blinking, or the way John had a hard time focusing on what he was being told. Sam feared the worse, but calmed himself down as best as he could. Better wait and see.

As soon as the doctor left, Sam almost ran to his father. "How's Dean?" he asked urgently. _'Tell me he's fine, please, tell me he'll make it'_

John sighed and looked down, unable to look at Sam in the eyes. "He's lost a lot of blood, due to a massive internal bleeding. He lost a couple of teeth and they broke his left kneecap. Apart from the injuries he already had from them, that is." He took a deep breath before keeping on. "They stitched his cheeks again, and they dressed up the burn on his neck. But what worries them the most are his lungs."

Sam blinked. That sure was unexpected. "What about it?"

"When they kicked his ribs… You know some of them were already broken, right?" Sam nodded. "Well when they kicked him, one of his broken ribs punctured his right lung. Which is why he had so much trouble breathing."

Sam's head was spinning. He took several deep breaths to calm himself down. When he was sure it was safe to talk again, he asked "Is he gonna be okay?"

"They had to do a tracheotomy, because his airway had completely shut down. He stopped breathing a few minutes after they got him in and…" he trailed off, unable to form the words.

"Dad?" Sam asked tentatively.

"His heart stopped twice. The second time it took them five minutes to bring him back."

Sam could feel hot tears sliding down his cheeks, but made no effort to wipe them away. "You didn't answer my question. Is he gonna be okay?"

John looked at him sadly, then said "I don't know. Nobody does. They say they did all they could to help him and now it's up to him. But they say we should be prepared for…" he trailed off again as tears reached his eyes and fell down his cheeks.

Sam nodded slowly, the realization that he could lose his brother slowly sinking in and choking him. "Can we go see him?"

John nodded "Yeah, they said we could. He's in room 352."

Without waiting for his dad, Sam took off towards Dean's room. Left alone, John wiped his tears away, trying to keep it together. _'He'll wake up. He always does.'_

**TBC…**

* * *

_I was in a good mood before writing this, but I'm not so sure right now. Now I kinda want to cry._

_Hope you liked it, and see you tomorrow to know whether Dean's gonna live or not. I'm not so sure myself, so only time will tell._

nerwende


	12. Not Your Fault

**12. Not Your Fault**

When John stepped into the room, he was sure Dean really was four years old all over again. He looked so small, so fragile in the big hospital bed, that John felt a sudden urge to run to him and take him in his arms, telling him everything was gonna be okay. But all he could do now was sit next to his son and wait for him to wake up.

Sam was sitting on the edge of Dean's bed and had Dean's hand in his own. He was on the verge of tears again and was doing his best not to look at the tube in his big brother's throat. The ventilator slowly hissing next to the bed seemed to mock them, reminding them Dean would die without it.

John slowly walked in, staring numbly at the scars on his son's cheeks. They were even more apparent than before. Images of Dean's cheeks opening wide came flashing through his mind as the sound of Dean's scream went to his ears, so vivid that for a second he thought his son was awake. But one look at his son's peaceful face was enough to remind him his son wasn't waking up anytime soon.

"Hey Dad?" Sam started, not letting go of Dean's hand, "These guys, they're not gonna… I mean, they won't get away with this, right?"

John looked at him, hurt apparent in his eyes "You think I'd let them?" he asked, anger boiling inside him.

"No, of course not." Sam said quickly, not wanting his dad to explode right there. "It's just… when Dean wakes up, we should go after them."

John's heart skipped a beat. _'He said "when", not "if"' _he thought. "We will." He vowed, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

He went to sit on the plastic chair next to the bed. They stayed like that for a long time in silence, Sam holding Dean's head and John silently praying he'd wake up. That was until Sam's phone rang, startling both of them. Giving his father a sheepish smile, he lightly put Deans' hand back on the bed and exited the room quietly.

"Hello?" he answered his phone as he came out of the hospital, shivering a little as the cold air hit his skin.

"Hey Sam, it's me." Came a familiar voice.

"Hey Bobby." Sam did his best to keep the tremor off his voice.

"What's wrong?" apparently, he wasn't much successful. "Tough hunt?"

Sam ran a hand through his messy hair. "It's not the hunt."

"Then what is it?" Bobby asked, his voice full of concern.

"Some bastard wanted revenge on Dad, and he used Dean to get to him." Sam heard Bobby curse under his breath.

"Is he ok?"

Sam could feel tears start to form in his eyes again. "No, Bobby. He's not okay."

"How bad?"

"He's in a coma and… the doctors say they don't know if he'll wake up."

"What hospital are you in?"

Sam smiled through his tears. Bobby always said families don't end with blood. And he always proved it. He barely had time to tell him the name of the hospital and Bobby hung up. Sam could almost see him grabbing his keys and his jacket and run out the door like his life depended on it. Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, Sam walked back in the hospital and went straight to Dean's room. What he found when he came in the room made his heart ache.

John was still sitting in the chair, but not in the same position though. He had an arm on Dean's bed and his head rested on this arm. The other hand was holding Dean's, clinging to it for dear life. His even breathing told Sam he had fallen asleep like that, holding his son's hand. Sam smiled sadly and went to find another chair. When he got one he settle himself in it, next to his dad. And as he leaned back in his seat, he thought it would be okay to let sleep catch up with him.

* * *

_Sam was in that basement again, watching as Heverson tore his brother's cheeks apart. He was trying to get free, trying to use telekinesis even, but nothing worked. He looked around, but his Dad was nowhere to be seen. A hand came and grabbed him by his hair and forced him to look back at Dean._

_His brother was on the floor, bleeding and panting, and he looked at him in the eyes. "Sam, why won't you help me?" he asked, his torn cheeks moving sickeningly as he talked._

"_I'm trying." Sam said, and he really was, but Dean gave him a hard look._

"_Try harder." He said, and Sam couldn't help but think he sounded like Heverson._

"_I can't he said lamely."_

"_You can't cause you're too weak." Dean spat. "Look at me. I'm dying here, at your feet, and you can't even help me. You're useless, Sam."_

"_I'm sorry." Sam whispered._

"_It shouldn't be that way. I should be unharmed and you should be bleeding to death. That's all you deserve!" Dean barked._

"_I'm sorry."_

"_Stop being sorry, do something! I'm dying here!"_

"_I'm doing my best." He promised._

"_Then your best isn't good enough. You're a failure."_

_Sam looked down. "I'm sorry."_

Sam woke up as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to meet Bobby's eyes. "Hey kiddo."

Sam rubbed at his eyes, the nightmare lingering in his mind for a while. "Hey Bobby." He looked around only to find an empty chair beside him. "Where's Dad?"

"Went for a coffee. Met him in the corridor." Bobby offered him a smile. It vanished as he took a look at Dean though. He came closer, looking at his battered face. "Oh, my… What did they do to him?"

Sam swallowed hard. "They tortured him." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And they made us watch."

Bobby turned to look at Sam's haunted eyes. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah." Sam lied. Bobby just rolled his eyes.

"Okay, cut. That was fine, Sam, but could you do it again please, this time with a little more truth? Alright, action."

Sam chuckled dryly. "What do you want me to say? How it hurt like hell to see them do this? How I would have given anything to take his place? How I felt useless as I watched him being tortured?"

Bobby sighed and sat in the chair John had been occupying. "You've got nothing to feel guilty about. There was nothing you could have done."

"Bullshit." Sam snapped. "I had a vision of all this. If I had been able to remember it at the time, none of this would have happened."

"Yeah, yeah, and if you'd been a little older at the time you could have saved your mother." Bobby said sarcastically. "Sam, this is not your fault."

Sam let Bobby's words slowly sink in then finally nodded. He looked at Dean, again avoiding looking at the tube in his throat. He glanced at his watch. _'Ten a.m.' _

He sighed and sat back in his chair. He looked at Bobby and gave him a small smile. "Thanks for coming, _Uncle _Bobby_._" Bobby looked at him in surprise then smiled back.

"The last time I heard you call me that, you were ten years old." Sam shrugged.

When John came in, they'd both fallen silent again.

**TBC…**

* * *

_See you tomorrow for next chapter!_

_Reviewsstill love!_

nerwende

* * *


	13. Eleven Thirty AM

**13. Eleven Thirty A.M.**

It had been five days now, and Dean still wasn't awake. There had been improvement, though. The doctors had taken the tube off his throat, replacing it with an oxygen mask. He'd said that it was a good sign, that Dean was fighting hard. But the young hunter was still deep in the coma, with his family sitting by his bed every day, waiting for him, only leaving at night. Sometimes when he was alone with his big brother, Sam would talk or read to him, convinced Dean could hear him.

On the fifth day, John, Sam and Bobby were still there. Dark circles could be seen under their eyes, but they just couldn't leave Dean. After a long, uncomfortable silence, John looked at Bobby and nodded toward the door. Bobby quietly stood up and exited the room with his friend, leaving Sam staring at Dean's lifeless body, deep in thoughts.

"I can't do this anymore." John told Bobby as soon as he was sure they were alone. "I just can't."

"What are you talking about?"

"I just can't sit there and wait for my son to wake up, _if_ he wakes up."

"Which he will." Bobby assured John, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. John chewed on his bottom lip, a habit he'd given to Sam.

"It's all my fault, Bobby." He said after a while "I shouldn't have sent him to the church."

Bobby sighed. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known…"

"Dean hates churches. I sent him there to annoy him, it was just a bad joke. I should have gone there myself. I'd decided to, but then I thought…" John's voice broke a little as he said that. He looked away, trying to keep the tears at bay. He couldn't believe he'd made his son go there over a stupid prank. "I wanted to pull his legs a little and now look what comes out of it."

"John." Bobby started, making John look up at him. "If you'd known and sent him anyway, that would indeed be your fault. And I sure as hell kick your ass for it. But there was no way you could have known. If that's anyone fault, it's that bastard's. And we'll find him and make him regret every bit of it."

A tear escaped John's eye, only to be wiped away almost immediately. "That won't give me back my son." He whispered brokenly.

Bobby was about to answer when they heard a loud beeping sound and Sam voice rang in the hallway. "I need some help in here!" Bobby looked at John and was shocked by the truly frightened look in his friend's eyes. They saw a bunch of nurses run in Dean's room and, after a few seconds, one of them ran out to get a doctor. Bobby and John went in themselves, and one of John's worse nightmare appeared in front of them.

The nurses were working around Dean. One of them took his pillow and lowered his head on the mattress, another one took the oxygen mask off his face while a third one was getting the defibrillator. Sam was standing a few feet away, crying quietly as he watched the flat line on the monitor screen.

"What happened?" John almost shouted. Sam seemed startled for a second, then he came up to his father.

"I-I don't know… His heart just stopped…" he stammered, looking like a small, lost child. A doctor ran in the room and the third nurse gave him the paddles. "Charging" she said as she did so.

"Okay, clear." The doctor pressed the paddles on Dean's body. Sam thought he was gonna vomit again as he saw Dean's body jerk from the shock. When the line on the monitor was still desperately flat, the doctor repeated the procedure, demanding for a higher voltage.

They shocked Dean again, and again, and again. But nothing was happening, though. Sam was crying harder with every passing second, praying for his brother's heart to beat again. John fists were clenched tightly, his nails digging in his palms. Bobby just stood there, whispering "Come on, Dean." Over and over.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor stopped shocking Dean. He shook his head and looked at the clock. "Time of death, eleven thirty a.m."

Sam's heart stopped for a second. "No" he said, "No, you can't just give up on him! He'll wake up, you'll see!" he almost yelled.

The doctor looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, Mister Anderson. Your brother fought hard, but you've got to understand that…" he was interrupted by a soft beeping. It was weak and unsteady, but it slowly gained speed and strength.

"He's back!" a nurse said, a bright smile on her face, and Sam could have sworn no one had told him something so great before. The doctor took a look at Dean's vitals, then turned to look at the three exhausted and stunned men. "Someone must be watching over him."

John swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "His mother is." He whispered.

* * *

Once everything was settled and Dean's room was as quiet as it usually was, Sam was sitting again by his brother's bed, taking his hand in his own. "Never do that to me again." He whispered in Dean's ear, trying to put it together. He'd never been so scared in his life, even when he faced his very first poltergeist.

Seeing both of his sons would be okay for now, John slowly got out of the room and Bobby followed him. And it was a good thing, because John had barely taken a few steps when his knees buckled and he would have fallen to the ground if not for Bobby catching him in time.

"Hey, get a grip." The older hunter said, helping John sitting back against the wall. John took a few shallow breaths to calm himself down.

"He was dead, Bobby." He said softly "My son was dead."

"He's back." Bobby said soothingly. "You know Dean, he's too stubborn to let go."

John gave a half choked chuckle "That's my boy." He said.

* * *

That night Sam had insisted to stay with Dean, so John and Bobby had gone back to the motel without him, but John had threatened him to throw his laptop out the window and then run over it with his car if he didn't call in case anything happened.

So there Sam was, talking to his unconscious brother about memories of their childhood. Often he wondered why he talked about it, but it felt right to have some sort of connection with his brother. At times a nurse would come and check on Dean, asking Sam if he needed anything and Sam always said "No, thanks."

After a couple of hours, he rubbed at his tired eyes, stood up and got out in an attempt to stretch his legs and get a coffee. As he went, he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened earlier, and he found himself wondering what he would do if he lost Dean.

'_You won't lose him.' _He told himself. _'He wouldn't leave you, you know that'_

'_But what if this time he isn't strong enough?'_ a second voice in his head asked.

'_He is strong enough. He's proven it many times.'_

He smiled to himself at this internal debate as he walked back in his brother's room. But what he saw as he came in almost made him drop his cup.

"Hey Sammy." Came Dean's voice, muffled by the oxygen mask.

**TBC…**

* * *

_Dean's awake, yaaaay!_

_Just... who thought I was gonna kill Dean??_

_Please tell me what you think!_

_More tomorrow!_

nerwende


	14. Fighter

**14. Fighter **

"Dean?" Sam tripped on his own feet as he went to take Dean's hand. His brother rolled his eyes.

"Such a girl." He slurred a little, still groggy from the anesthesia. Sam laughed nervously and withdrew his hands.

"I'll get a doctor." He told his brother. Dean nodded slightly, fighting to keep his eyes open.

Sam almost ran out of the room, and Dean chuckled a little at his clumsiness. Clearing his throat a little, he tentatively raised his right hand. It was weak and shaky, but it obeyed anyway. He lightly touched the oxygen mask and tried to take it off. But if his hand did move, it couldn't seem to get a proper hold on something. He was about to give up the task when one of his fingers touched his cheek and he felt the scar. He completely abandoned the mask to concentrate on the rough line running up his face almost all the way to his ear.

"Now, now, stop touching it or I'll have you restrained." Came a cheerful voice from the voice. Dean looked at the doctor that just came in. The older man smiled at him and took the oxygen mask off of his face "Mister Anderson, I'm Doctor Everett, but you can call me Eric. Do you know where you are?" he asked, flashing a penlight in Dean's eyes.

"I sure know where your damn light is." Dean grumbled. Everett raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, hospital."

"Can you give me your full name?"

"Dean Matthew Anderson." Dean said, remembering what the doctor had called him.

"Date of birth?"

"Why not the whole Declaration of Independence while we're at it?" Dean groaned. Sam rolled his eyes but Doctor Everett just laughed.

"Alright, I think you're okay." He said, then turned to Sam. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say your brother hates hospitals?"

Sam smiled "Understatement of the year."

"Well I count on you to push the morphine button if he's in too much pain and give him the oxygen mask if he's got trouble breathing."

"I will." Sam promised, giving Dean a look that told him he'd better not object. Everett nodded.

"Good. I'll come back in an hour to check up on him. Call me if you need something." He smiled at the two brothers and exited the room.

Dean sighed, wincing when that hurt his ribs. He tried to swallow but noticed his mouth was dry. "Sam, could you give me water?" he asked. Sam just nodded, filled a cup and handed it to his brother. Dean tried to take it, but his arm was still too weak. It wobbled for a moment before falling 

back on the bed. Dean cursed under his breath, then looked up at Sam, embarrassment written all over his face. "I'm sorry, could you…?" he couldn't finish his sentence, but didn't need to either. Sam put the cup to Dean's lips and carefully lifted it to help his brother drink. Dean took a few long sips before slightly turning his head to let his brother know he was finished.

Sam put the cup back to the bedside tabled then sat in the chair he'd been sitting in for five days now. He looked at his brother and noticed he was getting more and more exhausted. "You should go back to sleep." Sam said. Dean looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"So should you. You look like shit."

Sam chuckled. "Good thing you can't see your own face."

Dean grimaced "Yeah, whatever." He said, leaning back against his pillows and closing his eyes. "You're just jealous." He slurred.

Sam laughed again. "Jealous? Of what?" he asked, but never got an answer. In a blink of an eye, Dean had drifted back to sleep. Sam stayed like that for a moment, just watching the quiet rise and fall of his brother's chest. He almost fell asleep himself, but remembered he had something to do first.

He stood up quietly and got out, standing in the cold wind in front of the hospital. He called his father, and for the first time, didn't have to wait long for his father to answer his phone.

* * *

John was lying awake in his bed, unable to sleep. Again. He couldn't wrap his head around what had happened earlier. In his mind he could still hear the long beeping sound and the voice of the doctor "_Time of death, eleven thirty a.m."_ Like it didn't mean anything. Like his son's life was somewhat expandable.

But then Dean had come back. Granted he was still in the coma, but at least it proved he was still fighting. He always said he wouldn't go down without a fight, and he sure was a man of his word.

After a long while of self mental torture, John tossed his covers off him and got up. He needed a beer, _now_. When he got out of his room, he was met with a familiar glow. Bobby was sitting on the coach, watching the rerun of some bad soap. But John could tell he wasn't really watching. He cleared his throat and Bobby turned his head sharply to look at him.

"Can't sleep either?" he asked. John shook his head and went to get his jacket. "Where you going, Winchester?"

"Need a beer." John grumbled. Bobby seemed to consider the idea for a moment before turning off the television and grabbing his own jacket. John smiled. He didn't expect any less.

"So Sam didn't call?" Bobby asked as they got in John's truck.

"Nope."

"Well, that's good. Means nothing bad happened."

"Yeah, nothing good either."

Bobby sighed. "Well, aren't you a pessimistic bastard."

John smirked. "Part of my charm."

They rode in silence for a while when John's phone rang. He quickly grabbed it and answered. "Sam?"

"_Hey Dad."_

"Why you calling? Did something happen?"

Sam seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then, _"Yeah, something happened."_

For a second John couldn't breathe. He quickly glanced at Bobby, who was looking at him expectantly. "What?" He finally asked. "What happened?"

Sam was quiet for a moment and John was about to yell at him to say something, but he beat his father to it. _"He woke up a few minutes ago. He's asleep now, but Doctor Everett checked up on him and he's fine. He's asleep right now but…"_

But John didn't let him finish. "We're on our way." He said sharply. He was about to hang up but brought his phone back to his ear. "Sam?"

"_Yeah?"_

"Scare me like that again and your laptop is really gonna have a run in with my truck." John heard Sam chuckle at that and couldn't help but smile.

"_Got it." _Was all Sam said before hanging up. John shoved his phone back in his pocket. Bobby contained himself as long as he could before finally blowing up.

"Damn it, John! Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

John smirked then turned to look at his friend. "Dean woke up earlier. He's gonna be okay." He said, looking more relaxed than he'd been in days.

Bobby laughed. "See, what'd I tell ya? Your boy's a fighter!" he said.

John looked back at the road. "That, he is."

**TBC…**

* * *

_One happy chapter, woohoo! _

_Ahem, see you tomorrow for what's next. Bring the review, I'll bring my chapter!_

nerwende


	15. Home

**15. Home**

"A _week _?!" Dean practically yelled at the nurse.

"Mister Anderson, please calm down." The young lady pleaded. The last thing she needed was Dean getting worked up.

"How the hell am I supposed to calm down?" Dean barked, "I've been in a coma for five freaking days, you held me captive here for six more days, there's no way I'm staying here for an extra week!"

"Mister Anderson, you can barely make it to the bathroom and back again." The nurse tried to reason him.

"Well I promise I'll stay in bed and take it easy for a while, but I'm telling you, I'm leaving tonight!"

"What seems to be the problem here?" Doctor Everett asked as he came in the room with Sam, John and Bobby on his heels.

"Melissa here is enjoying my company way too much if you ask me." Dean said, a sly smile on his battered lips.

"It's Marissa" the nurse said defensively, "And I'm just saying you should stay here for one more week."

"I'm fine!"

"No, you're not!"

"Okay, Lady, I'm…"

"Enough!" Everett jumped in, feeling like a teacher in pre-school, "Look, Marissa, I appreciate your effort to keep him safe, but if Mister Anderson wants to leave, we have no right to keep him here."

"Thank you, doc!" Dean said, flashing his best grin at Marissa, who just glared at him.

"… but, Mister Anderson, I think Marissa's right. You really should take that extra week, to rest and regain your strength."

"No way." Dean said, ignoring the nurse's triumphant smile. "Look, as I told her, I'll stay in bed, take my medicine and take it easy for a while. That would be like staying here, but at least I'll be home."

Sam coughed pointedly as Dean had said "home", and Dean gave him a dirty look. John and Bobby looked at each other for a second, considering the options. After a short silence, Everett came to a decision.

"Okay, here's the deal. I'll let you go home, but…" he raised a hand as Dean grinned enthusiastically, "_but_, if anything happens, I want you to get him back here." He said, turning to face, Dean's family.

"Why do you tell _them_? I'm here, you know." Dean said.

"Because I know you'll die before admitting you need to come back here." Everett told him, looking deadly serious. Dean grimaced.

"Fair enough." He said.

Everett nodded "You guys make sure he'll take his meds?" he turned once again to the others.

"Oh he will." John said. "His car's at stake."

Dean gaped and for a second Sam though he would pull his brand new stitches. "You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

Dean closed his mouth and gulped, then nodded. "I'll take my meds." He said, looking so worried for his car that Sam and Bobby had to bite down their tongues not to laugh.

John nodded "Let's go home then."

"Oh, there's another think I had to tell you." Everett said, efficiently making everybody listen to him.

"Yes?" John asked, not sure he was gonna like what was coming.

"I talked to Doctor Sullivan. He's a plastic surgeon. I told him about the… scars you know?" he told Dean, who just nodded, waiting for more. "He said he could operate on them, and reduce them to very thin lines that will disappear with time."

Dean frowned. "What does 'very thin lines' mean exactly?"

"Doctor Sullivan is one of the best plastic surgeons in the country. It means 'almost invisible'. You'll have to know they're there to see them."

Dean's face lit up for a second, but his smile quickly vanished. "Thanks Doc, but… we can't afford it." He said somberly, making Sam's heart sink.

"Money's not a problem." Everett said. "He said that since they're the result of an attack he'd be glad to get rid of them for you."

Dean looked like a kid on Christmas night. He looked at his father, waiting for his advice, silently pleading him to say yes. John just shrugged and smiled "You heard the Doctor. He said it's fine."

It took all of Dean's pride and self-control not to hug Everett. Instead he smiled at him and said, "I'll do it, then. Wouldn't want the chicks to run away."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he could see right through his brother's façade. Everett chuckled. "Okay then. We'll wait for you to heal for a while, so… how does 'two weeks' sound like to you?"

Dean grimaced, "One week?" he asked.

"No bargaining, Dean." Everett laughed, "Give yourself some time."

Dean sighed. "Guess we'll settle for two weeks then." Then, smiling, "Thanks Doc."

Doctor Everett smiled back at him. "You're quite welcome."

* * *

"Okay." John said as the four men came back in the motel room. "Dean, you go lie down. On the couch, on your bed, on the floor, I don't care but you lie down."

"Dad, I'm…"

"_Don't_" John interrupted, raising a threatening finger at his son, "Don't you say you're fine. You go lie down and that's an order."

"Yes, sir." Dean grumbled as he made his way to the couch. The fact that he didn't try to bargain confirmed that he was actually tired and probably in pain. Sam took the bottle of painkillers out of his jacket pocket, shook two out in his hand, filled a glass with water and brought it all to his brother.

"Here" He said, dropping the pills in his brother's hand and handing him the glass. Dean looked at them for a second then gave Sam an "are-you-kidding" look before sighing, taking the pills and swallow them with a sip of water.

"Thanks." He muttered as he lay back down and closed his eyes. Sam smiled and sat in an armchair next to the couch. He put the glass on the coffee table then stared at his brother for a while. "Don't you _dare_ ask if I'm okay." Dean said, his voice thick with exhaustion.

Sam blinked "How do you…"

"I know you, Samantha. You'd ask if I'm okay if I cut myself with a sheet of paper."

Sam rolled his eyes. "This has nothing to do with a paper cut, Dean."

"I'm fine Sammy." Dean slurred. A few minutes later, his breathing had evened and his body had relaxed. Sam smiled as he watched his big brother as he slept. He could hear Bobby and John talk from somewhere behind him. When the word Heverson came to his ears, he stood up and decided to go see what was going on.

"So if you see him, you call me, alright?" John was saying into his phone. "I'll be there right away."

Sam could hear babbling on the other end, but he couldn't make out the words or recognize the voice.

"Yeah, he's resting… No, he's gonna be fine… Yeah, okay… Thanks Ellen."

"She was okay with helping you?" Bobby asked as John hung up, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, but she made it quite clear she was doing it for Dean, not me."

Bobby snorted. "That's typical Ellen."

"Who's Ellen?" Sam asked as he stepped in the room, startling Bobby and John as he did so.

"Damn it, Sam! What did I tell you about sneaking on your old man?" John grumbled.

"Uh, 'don't do it'?" Sam asked innocently. "Seriously, who's Ellen?"

"An old friend of mine. According to my sources, Heverson's heading towards the Roadhouse. That's her bar. I'm pretty sure he'll stop by for a drink, so I asked Ellen to call me when he does."

Sam smiled "Sounds good."

John smirked. "Yeah, it does. How's your brother?"

"He's sleeping. Hey dad?"

"Yeah?"

"You think it was a good idea? You know, let him leave the hospital like that…"

John shrugged. "Dean can stand and walk. Even if we'd insisted he stayed, what do you think he would have done?"

Sam considered for a second. "Wait until we're gone and sneak out of the hospital."

John nodded. "Exactly. At least this way he didn't hurt himself on his way out"

Sam smirked. "You might have a point here." He said.

"Damn straight I do." John nodded.

**TBC…**

* * *

_Will the Winchesters finally get Heverson and make him pay for what he did to Dean?_

_Will Dean be okay?_

_Will justice be made?_

_Let's find out in the next chapters!_

nerwende


	16. Don't Fight

**16. Don't fight**

The room was filled with a comfortable silence for a couple of hours. Bobby was watching over Dean as he slept, Sam was doing some research on his laptop and John was cleaning his gun. After a while, John looked up from his work and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Sam, you should go to bed." He said quietly."

Sam frowned and looked at the small clock on his computer screen. "It's barely midnight, Dad!" he said, puzzled. "I'm twenty-three now, I can stay up late."

"You've had a rough couple of days…"

"And you didn't?"

John just shook his head. "I did. And this is why I'll go to bed too." He said as he put the gun back in his duffle. But Sam didn't miss the sorrow that filled his father's eyes.

"Dad, what is it?" he asked. John looked up at him and tried to keep his face as blank as he could. During the past two hours he'd been repeating what had happened in his head. He felt guilty for sending Dean to the church alright. But there was worse. The man that had hurt his boy had called him, told him what would happen if he didn't turn in. And what did John do? He let it go and got Dean hurt. Hell, he got him _killed_! The only reason his eldest was still alive was his damn stubbornness.

"Dad?" Sam insisted when no answer came. John looked up at him and shrugged.

"Nothing." He said, hoping Sam would drop it.

"Dad, what is it?" of course Sam didn't drop it. Sam never dropped it, it was stupid to expect anything else from him anyway. Sam always pushed, a bad habit he got from his father.

"I was just thinking…" he said, leaving the sentence incomplete, hoping Sam would understand he had no intention to finish it.

"About what?" John sighed dramatically when the question came. Sam asked a lot of questions as a kid, and it didn't get better as he grew up.

"About the phone call I got earlier."

"What phone call?"

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a minute. He loved Sam, he really did, but if he so much as asked _one_ more question, John would probably have a hard time to hold back a punch. "The phone call Heverson gave me." He said finally, "Right before… _it_ happened." He glanced at Sam and, by the look on his face, he could tell yells were to come. He braced himself against the storm that was coming.

"What?!" Sam yelled, standing up abruptly. "He called you before? And you did nothing?!"

'_Kid's so predictable'_ John thought. "What was I supposed to do, Sam?"

Sam considered for a moment, then asked, "What exactly did he tell you?"

"He said that if I didn't go to him he'd hurt Dean even more than he already did."

"And you chose to save your life by risking Dean's?" Sam spat, a disgusted look on his face.

"No, I didn't!" John yelled as he stood up too. "Dean did! He made me promise not to go to them! He said they'd be waiting for me, he didn't want me to take the risk!"

"Guys, what's going on?" Bobby asked as he joined them. But both Winchesters ignored him.

"And you promised him?"

"Yes, I did!"

Sam gave a cruel sarcastic laugh. "Now that's hilarious. You promised and you stuck to it? What for? Not like it would have been the first time you lied right in his face!"

John grabbed Sam by the collar, blinded by his own anger. "You have no right to tell me that!" he yelled. "Every time I lied to him, to both of you, it was for you own good! To protect you!"

"Yeah," Sam snapped, "Like when you promised you'd be there for his birthday? Or for Christmas? Or for the day I graduated? You were protecting us, then?"

"Guys, please!" Bobby stepped in, trying to separate them. "Just think about Dean! The last thing he needs is to wake up to one of your fights!"

"Stay out of this, Bobby!" John barked as he shoved his friend out of his way.

"Yeah, Bobby. Dad doesn't care about Dean. He doesn't care about anyone but himself."

John looked at Sam, and for a second Bobby thought he was either gonna punch him or storm out and slam the door behind him. Neither option was really appealing.

"Now listen to me boy." John said, his voice low and threatening. "You, of all people, have no right to say I'm selfish."

"Guys, stop it." A voice came. But this time it wasn't Bobby's. They all turned to see Dean, looking pale and weak, leaning on the door frame.

"Dean!" Sam said, "You shouldn't be up!"

Dean smirked a little at that. "You think, huh? Just tell me, how exactly am I supposed to sleep with you two yelling at each other? I bet the neighbors are all up and waiting for you to shut the hell up."

John and Sam both looked down, looking equally guilty. "Sorry kiddo." John finally said. "Go back to sleep, it was no big deal."

Sam snorted. "Yeah right, no big deal." He said sarcastically.

"Sam, enough." Dean said. He wasn't feeling too good right now. He was aching all over, he was nauseous and he could feel a headache coming. And he sure as hell didn't need them to make it worse.

But of course, Sam wouldn't leave it be. "But Dean, he knew what was gonna happen and still he let them hurt you!"

Dean looked at his dad. "You told him?"

"I had no choice!" John defended himself. "Sam just doesn't seem to know when he should just let it go!"

"Oh yeah, cause that's what the real problem is!" Sam shouted.

"Okay." Dean raised his hands in an attempt to silence them both. "First, you two stop yelling or I might drop dead at your feet. Second, Sam, if it's anyone fault it's mine. I practically had to tackle him down to keep him from running at them."

"Told you!" John said, turning to Sam, who looked like he was gonna say something, but a simple look from Dean was enough to shut him up.

"Third, Dad, if you wanted to avoid arguing so much, you'd just stop yelling and do exactly what I do."

John looked at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"When Sam starts yelling at you, you always start yelling louder. Then Sam yells louder than you and it escalates until the neighbors are deaf. If you just took it calmly and spoke quietly, I'm sure it would help matters. See how I just told him he was wrong and he didn't yell at me? Now it's a hard thing to do, and sometimes I just can't hold it, but when I can, most of the time it works."

John looked confused for a second then said, "Are you trying to teach me how to talk to my own son?" he hadn't mean it to come out like this, like Dean was some kind of stranger, but it did felt like it.

"John!" Bobby snapped. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

But Dean put on his best smirk "Funny, last time I checked I was your son too." He said, trying to sound cocky, but no one missed the slight tremor in his voice.

"I know, Dean, I'm sorry." John sighed. And it seemed enough for Dean, but not for Sam.

"You see? What'd I tell you? You just don't care, stop acting like you do!"

"Sam, I've had it up to here with you!" John said, tracing an invisible line just above his head with his hand.

"Guys…" Dean tried weakly, putting a head to his forehead, fighting his now very present headache. But now his father and brother were too far gone to be stopped, and he just felt too tired to try and stop them. He closed his eyes just for a second when the headache and the nausea became too much to bear.

"Dean!" Bobby yelled as Dean hit the floor, hard. He ran to his side and shook him slightly. "Hey, you with me kiddo?"

John and Sam just stood there, frozen in horror at what they just did. Dean stirred in Bobby's arms and slowly opened his eyes.

"You okay?" Bobby asked him, feeling like an idiot for asking such a dumb question.

"Dizzy." Dean mumbled, "Need my meds."

Without saying a word, Sam went to take Dean's painkillers and gave two of them to his brother who quickly dry-swallowed them.

"Okay, it's been a long one for every one. Now everybody's going to bed and no one's arguing!" Bobby said, taking matters in his own hands. Dean smiled a little at that as he sat up when the dizziness and headache eased up enough for him to do so.

John just nodded, wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulder and helped him getting up. Dean looked like he was gonna fight him for a moment before giving in and allowing his dad to help him go to his bed.

Sam just went to his own bed without a word, feeling guilty as hell for what had just happened.

**TBC…**

* * *

_Yeah, I wasn't done hurting Dean. But hey, after what happened to him, did you really expected him to walk around all nicely? He did leave the hospital AMA._

_Also, someone very kind told me my story deserved more reviews. If you think so too, you know what you have to do!_

nerwende


	17. Life Goes On

**17. Life Goes On**

"Good morning, Sunshine." Dean said as he heard Sam come in the small kitchen. Sam blinked sleepily and muttered something that sounded like "'mornin'." He took a look at his older brother who was sitting at the table and drinking coffee.

"You're up early." Sam stated carefully. He knew last night's fight was certainly the reason, but he still hoped Dean wouldn't say it. Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

"Spent a whole freaking week in a hospital bed. I think I had enough rest." He said. Sam knew it was only half-true, but decided to let it go anyway.

"Where are Dad and Bobby?"

"Out to get breakfast. Should be back soon." It was weird, but Sam noticed for the first time how it seemed painful to talk for his brother. Dean wouldn't admit it, but he knew his stitches must hurt like them. Hell, they probably hurt before, but now that they'd been ripped apart and put together again, it certainly hurt even more. That would explain why Dean barely opened his mouth, why he kept his answers as short as possible.

"How you feeling?" Sam asked, swallowing the lump in his throat. "And don't tell me you're fine."

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes. "Then what do you want me to tell you?"

"The truth." Sam watched as his brother looked away, obviously embarrassed.

"Fine. My ribs hurt, I have a freaking headache that wouldn't let it go, I can't feel my nose, I limp like a one hundred years old guy and I can't even talk properly because if I open my mouth too wide I'll tear my cheeks apart all over again. That what you wanted to hear?"

Sam ignored the last part as he went to take Dean's painkillers and put two in his brother's hand. "Might help." He said sarcastically. Dean glared at him for a second, but dry-swallowed his pills before taking another sip of his coffee. "You know," Sam went on when his brother was finished taking his meds, "If you'd just swallow your pride – and your pills, that is – things would probably be easier."

"I hate pills." Dean grumbled. "I hate having to depend on something to function."

"I know." Sam said softly. They both stayed quiet for a while. Then suddenly the silence was too much for Sam. "Hey Dean?"

"What now?"

"I, uh…" Sam struggled to find his words. "I'm sorry about last night."

Dean shrugged. "You didn't yell at me. It's not me you need to apologize to."

"No, but it's my fault you blacked out. If I didn't start this fight…"

"Then Dad would have." Dean interrupted. "You two are so eager to have a reason to yell at each other… I don't know if you guys are trying to drive me nuts, but if not you sure as hell now how to act."

Sam gave a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, you're probably right. But still…"

Dean raised a hand, shutting Sam up. "Look Sam, last night I woke up with a start, my head was spinning, I ached all over and I was lightheaded. I would have blacked out one way or another." When Sam looked unconvinced, Dean offered him the best smirk he could manage. "Really man, I'm fine."

Sam smiled, a little more relaxed now. The door opened and John and Bobby walked in, carrying paper bags. "Breakfast." Bobby announced cheerfully. "If you don't like what we got you, don't blame it on me. Your dad chose."

Sam smiled as John put down a pile of pancakes in front of him. "Exactly what I wanted." He told his father.

"Better be." John mumbled, a small smile on his face. Beside Sam, Dean smiled too. He just took the sentences for what they really were: a mutual apology. But he grimaced as eggs and bacon landed in front of him.

"Not really hungry." He told his father. John looked up at him, frowning.

"Thought you liked eggs and bacon in the morning."

"Yeah, I love it. But I'm really not hungry."

John sighed. "Dean, you've got to eat something. Yesterday you barely had something at lunch and you skipped diner. Now you eat." He said, leaving no room for argument. Dean sighed and grabbed one of the plastic forks.

"If I throw up, it's gonna be your fault." He grumbled.

John smirked. "Fair enough."

They all ate in silence for awhile. When John was sure Dean had eaten enough, he allowed him to go rest on the couch. Dean argued for a moment, saying he needed to _do _something or he was gonna be bored out of his skull, but a glare from his father was all it took to make him obey.

The rest of the day was rather quiet. Sam was watching television with Dean, Bobby and John talked and made phone calls. Dean was not stupid, he knew they were trying to find Heverson and his goons, but he would be lying if he said he didn't want to catch the suckers.

* * *

Dean hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until he woke up alone in the couch. He looked around, trying to spot the others. They were packing their gears, ready to leave. They obviously didn't notice he was awake.

A small sheet of paper caught Dean's attention on the coffee table. He picked it up, squinting to make out Sam's quickly scribbled word.

_Dean, _

_We know where Heverson is._

_We're going after him._

_Be back soon._

_Sam._

"No, you don't!" Dean said loudly as he got up, making the three other men look at him in surprise.

"Dean what's wrong?" Bobby asked.

"You're not going after them. Not without me." Dean said, determined.

"Dean, you're not in shape…" John started.

"No, Dad. I'm not staying alone here and letting you risk your lives. Not if I can help."

"Which you can't." John pointed out. "Your breathing's still labored, you've got a limp and I know your ribs still hurt. I'm not taking the chances…"

"My breathing's good enough, I can still walk and my ribs won't keep me from holding my gun. I'm good to go." Dean said, thankful the bastard had only sprained his left wrist.

John ran a hand through his hair and looked at Bobby for advice. Bobby looked torn for a second then shrugged. John nodded then turned to his eldest. "Okay, but you listen to me very carefully cause I'm not saying it again. If you feel like you're not up to it, you back off. No matter what."

"But what if one of you…"

"We'll look out for each other. For once in your life, worry about yourself, damn it." When he saw Dean hesitate, John sighed in annoyance. "Look , we know where they are, but they won't be waiting for us."

"_They?_" Dean asked, worried.

"According to Ellen, there are five of them."

"Then I'm definitely coming." Dean said and grabbed his duffle, wincing slightly as he hurt his ribs. The others didn't seem to notice though, and a few minutes later they were all in John's truck with Bobby riding shotgun.

On the backseat, Dean was looking out the window, an arm wrapped around his ribs. He suddenly felt something being pushed in his hand and looked down to see a couple of pills in his right palm. He looked at Sam, who just smiled. _'He did notice.'_ Dean thought. He smiled back at his brother and mouthed "Thanks" before dry-swallowing the so hated, but so loved medicine.

**TBC…**

* * *

_Will the Winchester finally get revenge?_

_Hope you liked that chapter. But even if you didn't I'd like to know what you thought of it._

_Next chapter tomorrow!_

nerwende


	18. Part Of It

**18. Part Of It**

"What is this place, anyway?" Sam asked as John pulled up in front of the most perfect lost-in-the-middle-of-nowhere bar he'd ever seen.

"Ellen's bar." John answered simply. "If you have to find a hunter, start here."

Sam gaped at his father. "Heverson's a hunter?"

"Afraid so. He began hunting right after his daughter's death."

Sam glanced at his brother who just shrugged. They all got out of the car and went to get the weapons from the trunk. "Alright, everybody remembers what he's got to do?"

"Yep." Bobby and Sam answered at the same time. Dean frowned at them and gave his father a puzzled look.

"I don't. What do I have to do?"

John glanced at him, preparing himself for shouts. "You stay in the car and wait for us."

Dean's eyes widened, mixing with his scars to make his face look like a horrible mask. "What?! But Dad, you said…"

"I said you could come with, not that you could fight. It's too dangerous for you to be part of it. So you stay in the car and wait. That's an _order._"

Dean looked hurt for a second, but he knew his father was right. He sighed and went back to the car.

"And lock those doors, will you?" John called after him.

"Yeah, yeah."

Sam smiled sadly at his brother. "Don't worry, I'll kick their asses for you."

Dean smiled back at his little brother. "You better do that."

* * *

Ellen glanced at her watch. What the hell was taking them so long? Heverson wouldn't stay there forever, especially since he knew the closing hour would soon come. She watched as Heverson's friends were playing pool on the other side of the room.

She was startled out of her thoughts when a small hand fell on her shoulder. She turned around sharply and cursed. "Damn it, Jo! What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?" Her daughter just smiled.

"Did it work?" she asked innocently, earning a slight punch on her arm which made her chuckle. She then handed Ellen her cell phone. "It rang a few minutes ago, but the caller hung up when I answered." She said.

Ellen just nodded and took her phone, trying to sound casual. "Well if it's important I guess they'll call back." She said, though she knew very well who called and why. And she also knew it wouldn't last long until the phone rang again. "Jo, honey?"

"Yeah?"

"You did a good job tonight, so you can have the rest of the night off if you want. Go out, have some fun."

Jo smiled like a little girl on Christmas night, but then looked suspiciously at her mother. "You sure?"

Ellen shrugged. "Who am I to you, the devil?"

"Close."

Ellen laughed. "Get out of my sight." She slapped Jo's arm, letting her know it was okay. Truth was, she knew that when John Winchester had a vendetta against someone, it was usually loud and bloody. She just didn't want her daughter to get caught in the crossfire.

Jo had barely left the bar, promising to be home before dusk when Ellen's phone rang again. "Winchester?" she answered nervously.

"_Yeah it's me. We're in front of the bar."_

"Okay John, listen. Take whatever revenge you want, but please try to spare my place."

"_I'll see what I can do."_

"Good." She answered, though she still wasn't convinced. "How's your kid?" she asked tentatively. She heard John sigh a little and got worried for a second. She was still mad at John, but that didn't mean she wanted his son dead.

"_Pig-headed, tenacious and stubborn as hell."_ Came John's gruffly reply. Ellen snorted.

"Like father, like son."

"_Yeah. He's here too."_

"What?!" Ellen almost yelled, then gave a quick apologetic smile to her startled customers. She lowered her voice and got out of the room. "Are you completely insane? Your son's badly injured and you take him on a revenge trip anyway? You're risking his life here John!"

"_Don't you think I know that? I tried to make him stay at the motel but he just wouldn't have it. What was I supposed to do, chain the kid to the chair and leave him there? At least I can keep an eye on him."_

Ellen ran a hand through her hair, not liking the way things were going. "You're probably right." She said at last. "But you didn't call to tell me you were there, right? There was something else?"

John paused for a second and Ellen could almost see him look around to see if no one was spying on him. _"I want you to get out of there, Ellen. Just for a while."_

Ellen stood frozen. "You _are_ insane." She said. "There's no way on earth that…"

"_Ellen!" _John interrupted._ "It's dangerous. I want to protect you and your daughter from what could happen. It's the least I can do after…" _John trailed off, unable to finish.

"Jo's not there, I already got her to get out."

"_Good. But now it's your turn. Lock all the back doors and get out. I'll call you back when we're done."_

Ellen wanted to argue, tell him that she was a part of this now and she wanted to help. But instead she just said, "Okay. Be careful."

* * *

John waited until he could see Ellen in the distance walking towards her car. He then gestured to the three other men and stepped in the bar, all his weapons well hidden in his jacket.

He spotted Heverson immediately. It wasn't that hard really, considering there were only seven people in the bar and Heverson was sitting right in the middle of it. His goons where playing pool – and sucked at it – and the two other hunters looked up and gave John a quizzical glance. He just gestured towards the door and, understanding immediately what was gonna happen and what John wanted from them, they stood up, grabbed their jackets and got out.

Heverson hadn't noticed the trio that had just arrived though, too focused on the papers he was reading to see or hear anything. John jerked his head towards the idiots that were playing and Bobby and Sam nodded and sneaked on the guys with. One massive punch from John knocked one of them unconscious, making the three other men turn in surprise. They didn't put up much of a fight, and John couldn't help but think they were a lot more confident when attacking a lonely unarmed man.

When they were done knocking the idiots unconscious, they all turned to Heverson, who hadn't moved a muscle. They approached him carefully, guns at the ready.

"Finally. You're getting slower Johnny boy." Heverson said without even looking up.

"Get up." John said, hater lacing his every word. Heverson smiled and looked up at his opponent.

"Three armed men against one weaponless guy? How fair is that?"

"Didn't seem to bother you when you attacked my son."

Heverson chuckled. "Yeah, there's that." He said. "But I know you, Winchester. You want to set up things on your own. Make your own justice. You have rules, Mister Winchester. And you're not about to break them."

John kept his eyes on Heverson and swallowed, keeping his face as blank as possible. "Sam? Bobby?" he called and both men behind him looked up. "Get out." He commanded.

"What?!" Sam almost yelled.

"Are you out of your mind?" Bobby exclaimed at the same time. But John kept his voice firm.

"I said get out, _now._"

"No." Sam said.

"I won't repeat myself."

Bobby looked at John for a moment, considering the whole situation. Then he sighed, put his gun back in his jacket and grabbed Sam by the arm. "Come on, Sam."

"What? No!" Came Sam's outraged response. But after an everlasting silence, Sam gave a huff of frustration and followed Bobby.

Once alone with Heverson, John finally spoke again. "Better?" he asked.

"A little, but that's not good enough." Heverson answered, pointing at the gun John was still holding. John sighed but unloaded his weapon and threw it across the floor, out of reach.

Heverson stood up, went to lock the door and grinned at John. "Now we can fight."

* * *

"What the fuck is his problem?!" Sam yelled as he and Bobby walked towards the truck. "Is he trying to get himself killed?"

"He wants to do this on his own." Bobby said calmly. "You can't blame him for that. His son was hurt by this man."

"My _brother_ was hurt by him." Sam argued. Bobby just shook his head.

"Your father wants justice." He said quietly. Sam gave a deep sigh before opening the truck door.

It's not what he saw that made him freeze. It's what he didn't see. "Where's Dean?" he asked frantically, a thousand horrible scenarios running through his mind. Bobby gaped at him and looked around, alarmed.

"Dean?" the eldest hunter called, but only got silence in return. "DEAN!"

**TBC…**

* * *

_Cliffhanger! It's been a long time since I gave you a good one!_

_It would be nice to know what you think!_

_Chapter 19 tomorrow!_

nerwende


	19. Honor Your Son

**19. Honour Your Son**

The first punch made John see stars. He managed to duck to avoid the second one and punch Heverson in the guts. But the man merely laughed it off before kicking John's right knee and punching him in the nose. John's eyes watered and he was blinded for a moment, which bought Heverson time to kick him in the chest three times. On the fourth time though, John grabbed his leg and twisted, enjoying the cry of pain from his opponent. But when Heverson turned around, John was startled to see he was still grinning.

"What's the matter with you?" John breathed, slowly backing away from the other man. "You were normal when I met you."

Heverson laughed hysterically. "Normal? You wouldn't know normal if it fell on you head." He said, trying to punch John again. But the hunter blocked each fist and kicked him in the stomach. "Wow," Heverson panted, "You're fast, I'll give you that. But I sure am faster."

John tried to punch Heverson again, but the man grabbed his arm and pulled at it, enjoying the crack and he yell that came with the move. John punched him with his left fist and took a step back, trying to catch his breath. He tried moving his right arm, but only managed to provoke a white hot pain. _'Broken.'_ He thought grimly. He looked at Heverson, who was still freaking _grinning_.

"You know," the mad man started again. "I wish you could have been there when we first got a grip on your son, Johnny." He sent a punch but missed, getting a kick in the ribs in return. "Not bad" he commented cheerfully. "Your kid, he's such a good fighter. Better than you, I might add." He ducked to avoid John's attack, then grabbed him by his shoulder and threw him in the wall, caught him before he fell and hit him in the jaw repeatedly with his elbow. He finished with a strong headbutt and let John slide to the ground, gasping and panting.

Heverson grinned triumphantly and bent down to look in John's eyes. "The sound of your son's screams… You should have heard that, Johnny. We couldn't make him beg, but we did make him scream. You should've heard that. He screamed himself hoarse, tearing his face apart as he did so, which only made him scream even more. You remember how he screamed in that basement? It was nothing compared to the sound he made that night. It was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard."

He would have continued if John hadn't punched him in the nose, feeling it crack under his now bloody knuckles. He got on his knees, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his leg. He kept on punching Heverson until he managed to grab his broken arm and pull at it, making John yell again. He kicked him in the ribs, making him fall back on his back. Heverson went to him, grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head hard on the floor twice. Then he put his other hand under John's chin, keeping his head still, and grinned down at him.

"You know, it's a shame I had to waste Dean. That was a nice kid, your boy. But you know, it's all your fault that he's dead." He said, reaching into his pocket. John's eyes widened as he saw the knife Heverson was holding. He grabbed the other man's wrist with his good hand, keeping the blade as far away from him as he could.

"You said you didn't have a weapon." He hissed, making Heverson's grin grow even wider.

"I lied."

John was sweating, watching as the blade came closer and closer to his chest despite his efforts to keep it away. When he felt the tip penetrating his skin and thought it was over, a single gunshot rang and Heverson was throw back, the knife going with him. John lay there for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. Mercifully, the blade had barely broken the skin and hadn't done much damage. He sit up as best as he could and was startled by the sight before him.

Heverson was on the ground, panting, a bloody hole in his left shoulder. Next to him was Dean, holding a gun straight to his face. Heverson gave a wet cough then looked at Dean, and for the first time, he stopped grinning. "You?" he gasped, puzzled. "I thought you were dead."

Dean smirked. "I'm better." He then turned to look at his father. "You okay, Dad?"

John wanted to ask him to define 'okay', but just nodded. "How did you get in?" he asked.

Dean grinned. "Told you I was good to go." He looked back at Heverson, who had reached to grab Dean's ankle. Dean kicked him in the face. "Don't move." He ordered.

John managed to get on his feet. He went to stand next to Dean. "Give me my gun, son, will you?"

Dean obeyed. "Called the cops. They'll pick him up in a few moments. We should get you to the hospital too."

A look of pride crossed John's eyes. "Yeah, in a minute." He said, cocking the gun and holding it to Heverson's face. He could feel Dean tense beside him.

"Dad, what are you doing?" he asked nervously.

"What I should have done a long time ago." John answered through gritted teeth. He was startled when Dean grabbed his arm. He turned around to look in his son's eyes.

"Don't do this." Dean almost begged. "He's not worth the trouble it could get you."

John looked at him, confused. "But Dean, look at what he did to you. If you think I'll let him get away with it…"

"He won't." Dean promised. "The police are coming, remember? When they'll find the weapons in their cars, they won't even hesitate. Let's just go." He added when John seemed to hesitate. "Don't want you to get down at his level."

John looked down at Heverson and smirked at him. "You can thank him, you son of a bitch." He said. "If it wasn't for him, you'd be dead by now."

Dean cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me sir, but I think that if it wasn't for me, _you_'d be dead by now." He said innocently.

John glared daggers at him and shoved him slightly. "Let's go." He grumbled.

Dean chuckled. He laughed openly when he saw the four other bloody men lying on and around the pool table. "Man, you did kick their asses!"

* * *

"Dean!" Sam almost yelled as he saw his brother leave the bar. "Where the hell where you? You were supposed to stay in the car!"

"Hey, back up there, big fella." Dean raised his hand in surrender. "I was just saving Dad's life." He added. Sam looked over Dean's shoulder and saw his father limp toward them. He winced as he saw the bleeding nose and the awkward angle John's arm has adopted.

"That bad, huh?" He asked Dean.

"Yeah, that bad."

"But what about Heverson?"

"Taken care of. Let's go now. I bet Doctor Everett is gonna be happy to see us again."

**TBC…**

* * *

_That's it for today, folks! See you tomorrow, as usual!_

nerwende


	20. The End Of All Things

**20. The End Of All Things**

_**Two weeks later...**_

John and Sam were in the very same waiting room they'd been sitting in two weeks earlier, waiting for Dean. But this time they didn't worry like last time. Don't get me wrong, they were worried, but it wasn't as bad as last time. This time, they were waiting as a plastic surgeon was doing his best to make Dean's scars disappear. Bobby was sitting beside John, talking about a hunt he had in San Diego. Both Winchesters were listening intently, thankful for the distraction.

John shifted a little in his seat, trying to get comfortable, but his sling and cast kept annoying him. He'd been bitchy since he had them on, his arm itching every five minutes. Sam therefore had to take care of Dean who kept 'forgetting' to take his meds (_"I'm fine Sammy, don't need them anymore."_) and of his Dan who complained about his broke arm all the time (_"Yeah, laugh it up Dean, the guy's just lucky you pitied him."_). Mercifully, Bobby had been there to help the whole time. Sam would probably have gone crazy without him.

After about two hours, a man in scrubs came out of the O.R. and took off his mask, revealing everybody his smile. "Hi, I'm Doctor Sullivan. I operated on Dean's face." He said cheerfully.

"How'd it go?" John asked, although he could guess what the answer was. Sullivan's smile grew even wider. _'Good news.'_ John thought hopefully.

"It went very well. You're son's in his room now. He's still asleep but you can go see him."

"How about his scars?" Sam asked.

"Well," Sullivan started, "They put up quite a fight, but I won. You can still see a very thin line on each side of his mouth, but it should vanish soon."

"And when can he leave?" Bobby asked. "No offense, but kid hates hospitals."

Sullivan chuckled. "Who does?" he said. "Well, we'll keep an eye on him, but I don't see why he couldn't leave tonight."

Sam and Bobby looked at each other, smiling. "Thank you Doctor." John said, barely able to contain his joy himself.

Sam couldn't hold back his gasp as he stepped in Dean's room. They all were somewhat used to seeing Dean's forced grin, and now, it felt strange to see him without it. Sam smiled as he came closer, taking a good look at the thin, white lines that crossed Dean's cheeks.

"They did a hell of a good job." Bobby stated as he and John came to stand next to Sam.

"Yeah, they did." John said softly, in awe.

* * *

Dean awoke to the sound of the television. He cracked one eye open, then the other, smiling as he saw Sam was watching Oprah. "Dude, I really gotta brainwash you." He said, startling Sam as he spoke.

Sam blushed and turned the television off. "Just channel surfing." He said quickly and Dean had to suppress the laugh that built up in his throat.

"Hey, where's everybody?" Dean asked, looking around.

"You know, them, they went out to get coffee." Sam chuckled. Dean nodded jerkily, and Sam could tell his brother was dying to see the result of the surgery. He smiled and took the mirror that a nurse had left purposely on the bedside table. "Here, let me put you out of your misery." He said, smiling as Dean's eyes shone when he saw the mirror in his brother's hands. Dean took the mirror like it was some kind of precious ornament but down for a moment, afraid of what he could see. But Sam looked encouragingly at him and slowly, carefully, he lifted the mirror and held it in front of his face.

Apparently, Sam wasn't the only one who had gotten used to the scars. Dean could barely recognize himself now. He'd been looking at a torn face for weeks now, and the contrast was startling. Sam could see the tears in his brother's eyes as he carefully touched the thin lines on his cheeks, slowly turning his head from side to side to get a better look at them. After a while, Dean put down the mirror and grinned at his brother.

"Well, look at that. Looks like Handsome is back." He said and Sam rolled his eyes. But the younger man couldn't hide his smile though.

Before anything else could be said, John and Bobby walked in, carrying their coffees. "Finally awake." John commented, a smile playing on his lips.

"When do I get out of here?" Dean asked eagerly and Sam chuckled. Man, Dean really hated hospitals.

"Hopefully tonight." Bobby said cheerfully. He sat in one of the chairs beside Dean's bed. "How does that sound to you?"

"Sounds very good." Dean smiled contently. He sank back in his pillows, anesthesia still having a grip on him. "Good thing they didn't have to rebuild my nose too."

"Yeah, you probably would have stayed longer." Sam agreed. "How's it doing, by the way?"

Dean lightly poked his nose. "Slowly coming to." He answered. "It will soon be good as new."

They all sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, then Sam spoke. "So, about Heverson…" he started, and he could feel John tense beside him. Dean looked at him expectantly, silently willing to go on. So he did. "I've googled his name on my computer. Looks like he and his friends won't see the sun anytime soon."

Dean smirked, and this time it didn't look like some kind of sick, contorted grimace. It just looked like _Dean_. "Good news." He said, voicing everybody's thoughts.

"Yeah" John said, "Good news."

* * *

Dean was released in the evening. The hunters hit the road the next day. But despite his protests, Dean still was allowed to drive.

"Why not?" he'd asked his Dad. "My ribs are better, my wrist is healed, I don't have headaches anymore and I can focus as well as before. Why can't I drive?"

"Because you just got out of the hospital, I'm not taking any chances with you." John said, tossing the Impala keys to Sam. Then he turned to face his frustrated eldest. "You'll thank me later." John smirked.

"Yeah, I bet." Dean muttered sarcastically. John just shrugged and got out to put his duffle in his trunk.

Sam looked at Dean, who looked a little unsteady for a moment. "You all right?" he asked. Dean rubbed at his eyes and smiled at his brother.

"Yeah, just a little lightheaded, that's all."

"You see, Dad was right not to let you drive." Sam smirked. Dean glared at him for a second, but quickly grabbed his jacket and duffle as John's voice startled them both.

"Boys! You coming or what?"

"Coming!" Dean called back as he hurried out of the room. Sam took his own stuff and smiled, following his brother in the hallway. _'Well,'_ he thought, _'Looks like things are back to normal.' _He considered for a moment before chuckling to himself. _'At least as close to normal as Winchesters can get!'_

**The end.**

* * *

_Well, that's it, folks. My work is done here._

_Thank you all for reading, and special thanks to __**DeanBeanWinchester**__ and **Rholou** who reviewed each and every one of the chapters. That was so kind of you guys, thank you so much for that!_

_Hope you people enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it._

nerwende


End file.
